


A Chance To Change

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: Unfinished Businesses [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, Horcrux Hunting, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 11:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: If someone asked Hermione Granger, the proverbial nail in the coffin had probably been the moment where a distraught Harry had started to use the Resurrection Stone to talk to his deceased relatives... and accidentally called the wrong one.If someone asked Ron Weasley, the proverbial nail in the coffin had probably been the moment where Hermione had found an old grimoire on Indian magic in the Patils destroyed and seemingly abandoned house... and discovered books on ancient sex-changing spells.If someone asked Harry Potter, the proverbial nail in the coffin had probably been the moment where they had found the Time-Turners -- the prototype ‘true’ Time-Turner and the real, fully functional ‘true’ Time-Turner that'd allow them to travel through time... indefinitely.And thus, The Plan was born.





	A Chance To Change

**Author's Note:**

> So... I've been planning for a long time to write an Harry Potter story combining both Time Travel (Fix It) and Genderbending, with character(s) opening the equivalent of a wizarding primary school in order to try and change society. Sadly, I kept toying with many ideas and thinking and rethinking the plots, adding or removing characters involved, modifying the plot again and again and... well, it didn't go anywhere in the end.
> 
> However, before I (temporarily?) dropped the project, I had had the time to write a large chunk of my first attempt. And, after rereading the story, I thought perhaps it'd be good to try and post it.
> 
> Here's hoping you'll enjoy it <3

If someone asked Hermione Granger, the proverbial nail in the coffin had probably been the moment where a distraught Harry had started to use the Resurrection Stone to talk to his deceased relatives.

Oh, things had been bad before of course; they had been on the run for so long, allies and enemies alike falling like flies around them. Revolt and insurrection had bloomed in Hogwarts long before any member of their trio had managed to set a foot there, and their old school had become ground zero for a civil war with many casualties.

A few students who had been evacuated or managed to escape and whom Hermione, Harry and Ron had met in secret spoke of horror tales, of things happening in the school’s corridors that made the bushy-haired girl’s blood freeze in her veins. Honestly, after what the Carrows did and allowed Voldemort’s supporters to do, was it any wonder the students rebelled?

Yes, they were children. But children couldn’t be cowed eternally by threats to themselves, to their friends or to their families.

And there was nothing more dangerous than someone who thought he had nothing to lose anymore, not matter how old he was.

But Merlin almighty, to poison the whole of Slytherin House during the feast? To booby trap classes and corridors and dormitories and secret passages in order to severely injure or kill people caught in said traps? To stab people with the cutlery when hexes weren’t enough? There were even rumors of a group of wizard and witches who had gone bare-handed against the Slytherin Sixth year Prefect and broken his wand arm (Hermione suspected it was the Sugiyama cousins; Mika Sugiyama was in her Arithmancy class, a half-blood witch and a self-professed martial artist though Hermione didn’t know what style she practiced. Her younger siblings and cousins all practiced as well, according to Mika, and Hermione had no trouble picturing one of them using their fighting or defense moves to good use).

And those were the ‘tame’ rumors; other spoke of students ending up with snapped necks.

It made Hermione sick. She hoped none of her classmates had truly been part of such follies, but deep down, she knew better. Gryffindors were brave and preferred to fight upfront, Hufflepuffs were gentle and hard working, and Ravenclaws were clever and wise, but any of them could turn vicious and use dirty tactics if the need arose -- and that wasn’t even accounting for any Slytherin student who wasn’t a supporter of Voldemort and who would have joined the insurrection in the school. Just because they weren’t vocal about their opposition didn’t meant they didn’t exist and Slytherins could be downright nasty.

What had happened to the Carrows when a legion of enraged students, unable to be controlled by the teachers, had gotten to them, would probably have haunted Hermione’s dreams if she hadn’t had more serious problems to worry about. From all accounts, Snape, who had been with them, had barely managed to escape with his life.

And then Voldemort himself had come marching on Hogwarts, followed by his Death Eaters and an assorted group of supporters, and things had turned even uglier.

It made Hermione want to giggle hysterically. For one who preached wanting to preserve blood purity, the Dark Lord had had no qualm about killing any child in his path -- and they had all been purebloods or half-bloods, since Muggleborns had been rounded up, escaped or refused admittance at the school for the youngest ones.

At least some of his followers had finally seen what kind of monster he truly was… but it hadn’t saved the students.

And it hadn’t saved the school.

Whoever had cast a Fiendfyre was probably lucky if they died in the roaring inferno, because Lord Voldemort’s rage had knocked Harry out cold for nearly fourteen hours. Hermione theorized, and Ron agreed with her, that the Dark Lord’s rage had been caused by the loss of his Horcrux in the flames. While they couldn’t directly confirm it as they couldn’t come anywhere near the castle nowadays, it made sense; the enchanted fire had started along the Room of Requirement and gotten out of control until someone managed to find the right charm to stop the flames. It had ravaged an entire wing and possibly killed countless.

It hurt, knowing so many had died -- so many children! -- and none of them had been able to do anything about it. Reinforcements from the outside, Order members, parents, concerned wizards and witches had immediately rushed Hogwarts, of course, but in the end, their help had mainly resumed to help students evacuate when it had become obvious that fight wouldn’t be won.

Harry felt guilty -- and so did Ron and Hermione. They should have been there; they should have been able to help. But continuing on the quest Dumbledore had given them was more important than to step in every fight set up by the Order and the steady resistance against Voldemort, or so said the Order members they met from time to time.

The hunt for the Horcruxes… wasn’t working as well as they had hoped, Hermione was forced to admit. The Horcrux in Hogwarts was destroyed, so were the Ring and the Diary, Slytherin’s Locket had fallen prey to the Sword of Gryffindor and despite their trip to Gringotts almost ending in a fiasco, they had managed to get the cup -- and by miracle, to destroy it thank to the dragon’s flames.

Voldemort had caught up about their destruction now, but as far as the trio knew, he had yet to try and create another. Hermione knew Harry feared he would, but the Muggleborn witch had his doubts. From her understanding, the soul pieces lodged in the Horcruxes didn’t reintegrate Voldemort -- they ended up destroyed as surely as their containers. And one couldn’t fracture his or her soul’s indefinitely; Voldemort had already pushed the limits and if he tried for another, he would possibly die. Quite ironic, if one considered he had created the Horcruxes in order not to.

His inability to make more probably explained Harry’s constant headaches, which the green-eyed boy had attributed to ‘Tom being in a foul mood’ until they managed to get rid of the soul fragment in his scar.

And hadn’t it been fun to learn about that!

If Dumbledore wasn’t already dead, Hermione thought she might have killed him herself. Well… probably not. But she certainly would have screamed at him at the very least. And poor Harry, who thought he had to walk to his death in order to get rid of Voldemort! Well, Hermione and Ron had certainly make him understood that it was stupid and they weren’t about to let him do that.

Even if Ron had to sit on Harry to make him stay still until Hermione managed to find a wand to cast a Freezing Charm at him -- and then started to scream at him until her voice was hoarse. If Harry truly was a Horcrux, then they would find a way to destroy it without killing him, damnit! Even if that meant reopen his scar with the Sword of Gryffindor, or put a drop of Basilisk venom on it! (which were pretty bad ideas, especially the second one, but they didn’t know what else to do; now, if only they could put their hands back on the Sword, that’d be so much easier…)

The only plus side, in the bushy-haired girl’s opinion, was the discovery of the Resurrection Stone. The moment Harry’s lips had touched the Golden Snitch while proclaiming he was going to die, that stupid thing had opened to reveal the Stone.

And nowaday, between two trips for food or for intel, Harry spent a lot of time talking with the spirits of the dead.

Hermione wasn’t comfortable with it the slightest -- and Ron wasn’t much better -- but at least it seemed to give their friend a sense of closure.

And Harry needed closure, badly. The shades of his parents, of Sirius, of the friends and classmates he called the names,... they were helping him, even if neither Ron nor Hermione were about to let him out of their sight or use the Stone when he was alone.

(It was also a relief for them to see Harry failing to call some ghosts forward, the people he tried to get through the Stone being very much alive -- or at least they supposed. Neville. Ginny. They didn’t come, so they had to be alive, right?)

Harry had gotten some colors back, he was eating properly again… and then Ron came back from a trip outside, white-faced, with the news the Dursleys were dead, and Harry had withdrawn from them again.

His impulsive trip to Privet Drive had given them a cold sweat but fortunately, either the house had been unguarded at the time Harry had visited, or nobody thought the Boy-Who-Lived would be stupid enough to come back there, but he was, and Hermione had pretty much wanted to strangle him for that. Ron hadn’t showed as much restrain and punched him in the face, but Hermione couldn’t blame him either -- nor did Harry.

His Uncle and his Aunt hadn’t been good people, not in Hermione’s opinion and probably not in Harry’s either, but they had been his family. Learning that despite the protection offered by the Order, Death Eaters had finally found them and didn’t waste an occasion to torment Muggles and strike a blow against Harry, had been hard to swallow for the lithe green-eyed teenagers. No one knew what seemed to have become of Dudley, but the chances he was still alive were desperately thin.

Harry didn’t dare calling up his name aloud when he held the Stone. Funny thing; one could call a dead wizard or witch with barely a thought, but a Muggle needed to be named aloud before the Stone accepted to call their shades. Perhaps because Muggles didn’t usually left ghosts, unlike wizards? Hermione didn’t know for certain, but it could have made an interesting subject of studies.

Anyway.

Hermione understood why Harry kept using the Stone, even if she didn’t exactly approve. She understood his need to seek closure once again with his Aunt more so than with his Uncle. But perhaps she should have made sure he called forward the right person.

For Harry’s defense, he had just finished looking at a picture of his mother, with the handwriting behind stating ‘Lily Evans, summer 1972’. So he could easily be excused to have said ‘Petunia Evans’ instead of ‘Petunia Dursley’ when thinking about his mother’s sister. After all, they were the same person, right?

But the shade that had appeared… hadn’t been Petunia Dursley. Hermione had seen Harry’s Aunt before, and that woman wasn’t her. Why, the shade looked to be in her early twenties at most, while Harry’s Aunt had been in her late thirties, early forties! The ghost was a brunet, and Petunia Dursley had been a blonde. There was something about the ghost that felt vaguely familiar (the shape of the chin, perhaps, or the nose), but she wasn’t Harry’s Aunt, not at all.

“I’m, I’m sorry, I… it wasn’t you I wanted to call,” Harry sputtered. “I’ll let you go on your way, I…”

The shade just looked at him calmly, with perhaps a hint of curiosity. “You have Mother’s eyes, just like Richard and Marigold,” the ghost started, making Harry startle and watch her more closely while Hermione frowned deeply.

“Who are you?” the bushy-haired witch asked suspiciously.

The ghost just smiled. “Why, I’m Petunia Evans, of course.”

“You’re not!” Hermione snapped, nervous, but Harry raised a hand.

“Wait a minute, Hermione. I think… I think I know what this is about. I know you,” Harry murmured as he watched the shade, looking thoughtful before his eyes widened and his expression softened. “I saw you… I saw you in the Mirror of Erised. You’re… you’re part of my mother’s family, aren’t you?” The ghost kept smiling, not denying or agreeing, though Hermione noted she didn’t look too sure of herself.

Her head was spinning. That shadow couldn’t be one of Harry’s relatives, could she? But then again, she had the same nose as Lily Evans (the same nose as Harry, come to think), and the shape of her eyes was similar. She claimed to be called Petunia, she spoke of a Richard and a Marigold, but none of Harry’s relatives were called like that!

Or… were they? Hermione stared at the ghost harder. Ghosts usually appeared in the clothes they had died in (the Hogwarts students and Harry’s parents certainly did), and this Petunia’s dress looked like something straight out the 40s. If she had died around World War II at around twenty years old, then she had to have been born in the 1920s. Which meant she was from Hermione’s grandparents’ generation.

**Harry’s** grandparents’ generation.

And it wasn’t unusual to name children after older relatives, the bushy-haired witch reminded herself. Could Harry’s Aunt Petunia… have had an Aunt Petunia herself? If so, did that mean she was what, Harry’s Great-Aunt?

“Harry? Do you know your grandparents’ names?” Hermione found herself asking, wondering if it was a good idea or not.

Harry shook her head. “I don’t,” he replied before he started to eye the Stone thoughtfully. “But I think I’m going to find out soon.”

And just like that, the first nail was pounded in.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

If someone asked Ron Weasley, the proverbial nail in the coffin had probably been the moment where Hermione had found an old grimoire on Indian magic in the Patils destroyed and seemingly abandoned house.

It wasn’t fully abandoned, mind you, because Padma Patil often dropped by -- she just never stayed long. No member of the trio was comfortable staying in the ruins, but Ron supposed it must have been worse for the surviving (and Merlin, he really, really didn’t want to think about the fact Parvati was dead; that couldn’t be possible!) Patil twin. It had been her home, the place where she had grew up and been happy… and now there was nothing left. They had tried to leave, but Padma had looked at them silently, her sole remaining eye (the other closed by a layer of scar tissue that would have made Mad-Eye Moody proud) never leaving them, and they had caved in.

The house was in ruins thank to whatever attack it had faced, but the Death Eaters hadn’t found the caves, protected by more layers of spells than Ron had thought possible. Carved runes glimmered on the ceiling and diffused a soft light that acted, in Hermione’s words, like light bulbs and helped conceal their presence. Ron had stood by while Hermione admired them and chatted with Padma -- apparently, the Ravenclaw twin had been taking Ancient Runes as well. He hadn’t seen Hermione so lively in weeks and even if Ron had quickly lost track of the conversation, he had enjoyed the look of interest in his friend.

Padma hadn’t asked where they had been while Hogwarts burned, while the students fought for their life, for their freedom, while her sister died. She had just looked at them until a fidgety Harry confessed they were looking into ways to destroy Voldemort for good without letting him a chance to come back -- that Headmaster Dumbledore himself had set them on this quest, gave them clue, though he remained close-lipped about the Horcruxes, for which Ron was grateful.

Padma had looked at them again, but in the end she had just nodded, offered for them to stay in the caves and gave them access to any book, parchment or grimoire that had survived the raid on the Patils house. “Who knows, perhaps you’ll find something useful in there?”

After that, they hadn’t seen her much. She dropped by infrequently, sometimes bringing them food and sometimes just taking refuge for the night. If she had more scars alongside her arms, nobody commented. And if the few Prophet issues she dropped by announced a Voldemort supporter had died and Padma smirked, well… better not to ask too many questions, Ron decided.

The caves were surprisingly comfortable, as the trio soon found out. Large and numerous, the Patil family had converted them into food and wine cellars for the most part, so the trio wasn’t about to die from hunger. The temperature was always lukewarm thank to handy spells, and if they missed natural light, it was a small price to pay for the rest they could enjoy.

Ron hadn’t thought much about Padma’s offer to use her family’s surviving books collection; he seriously doubted they could find anything on Horcruxes in them. But Hermione, never one to pass the opportunity to read (and perhaps to lift her mood after their latest series of near-escapes from Snatchers) had immediately dug into what she could find. Surprisingly, a good portion of the Patils’ grimoires had survived the attack though Ron soon found out it was because they had been stored in the caves as well; Padma’s Grandpa had converted one in a makeshift office before his death and had stored some of the family’s most precious treasures there.

That where Hermione spent most of her time nowaday when she wasn’t sleeping or taking her turn standing guard near the concealed trapdoor leading out of the caves in case they’d get an unfriendly visit. Harry spent time there as well, but he didn’t read as much as Hermione, thank for small mercies. Ron had honestly tried to read as well, but a good part of the books weren’t written in English and those he could understand were a little too complex for him.

Hermione loved them, though.

“It’s fascinating,” she often said. “I never knew that Indian wizards had so many wandless spells! There are not very powerful for the most part, of course, but there is so much variety! Why don’t they teach about it at Hogwarts?”

“What, wandless magic?” Ron piped in.

Hermione shook her head, obviously irritated. “Oh, Ron, be serious! Wandless magic is incredibly difficult to perform, it can’t be included in Hogwarts cursus without completely upsetting the class schedules and the learning curve of the school. But it’d be nice to know casual wandless spells are the prefered method in certain cultures and countries, especially in some parts of India. Parvati never told me about that either…”

“Perhaps she didn’t know?” Harry offered from his seat in a corner, absently toying with the Resurrection Stone. Ron eyed him warily; he rarely let go of that Stone nowadays and it worried the youngest Weasley brother. “After all, she grew up here and probably her parents before her, so…”

“That’s… very likely,” Hermione nodded reluctantly. “Parvati likes… liked,” she corrected herself with a croak, “to talk about hairstyles and dresses with Lavender, but wandless magic never came into the conversation. Flowers and plants, once or twice, but she talked little about India. Which is kinda sad,” she added with a wistful look. “They speak about Parselmouth in one of those books, you know, and how it’s still very revered in India.”

“Really?” Harry perked up even as Ron made a face. “How come? I mean, given the reputation it has…”

“Yeah. Between Herpo the Foul and Salazar Slytherin, I never heard of any good wizard who was a Parselmouth, uh, asides of you Harry,” Ron was hasty to add when Harry gave him a lopsided smile. “Sorry, no offense meant.”

“None taken,” the green-eyed teen replied.

Hermione just shook her head. “That’s true Ron, but they are Europeans wizards and while it’s true there were Parselmouth Dark Wizards in the rest of the world, in many countries being a Parselmouth isn’t linked as a Dark ability but rather as an useful gift. At least it is in India; snakes are part of their culture. Actually, the Snake Summons Charm was invented in India, did you know?”

No, Ron hadn’t known, and he didn’t care much. Harry, however, was very attentive to Hermione’s every words.

“Indian magic sounds so fascinating. There are potions recipes in that book I never saw anywhere before, like an Anti-Venom working against all snakebites or the Sex-Changing Potion!”

“The what now?” Ron let out, startled and blushing. “But… you can’t change sex, right?”

“With magic, Ron, I’d say anything is possible,” Harry replied dryly, though he didn’t seem much more at ease with the subject. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Remember the Polyjuice in Second year? We turned into Crabbe and Goyle, but I bet we could have turned in girls if we had had the appropriate hair. Right, Hermione?”

“Quite right,” the witch replied with a serious nod. “Polyjuice allows you to take the appearance of anyone, without restriction of sex -- though most wizards or witches tend to limit themselves to disguises of their respective genders. They’re too unsettled otherwise.”

“I understand them,” Ron mumbled. “I just don’t understand why someone would want to change sex.”

Hermione sighed heavily. “Oh, there could be several reasons, Ron. Some people don’t feel comfortable with their biological sex, they think it’s wrong or they feel like they truly belong to the other gender and hate their own body -- I think the correct term is gender dysphoria but I’m not sure, I never researched the subject before and my parents only talked about it once or twice because one of their patients was…” She paused and shook her head. “Anyway, back to the subject. Another use for a sex-changing potion is to make sure to have a male heir, which is quite important in several cultures. In the Muggle world, there is a lot of female infanticides in China, India or several Middle East countries.”

Ron stared at her horrified. “They… kill little girls?! Muggles are barbaric!”

“Oh, wizards aren’t much better,” Hermione snapped back. “According to this book, they did it too until Chandra Pavuluri created the first version of the potions in the 17th century! She, or rather he, received high honors and the equivalent from an Order of Merlin, First Class from the Indian Ministry to have found an humane solution to the problem of daughters!”

“What problem? They were just girls! There was nothing wrong with that!”

Ron’s frank reaction seemed to appease Hermione because she eyed him more softly and he felt himself blush slightly. “I know that, and you know that -- and Harry knows that as well,” she nodded toward the other teen. “But it’s… It’s cultural, I guess. Parvati told me about that once; Indians place a lot of emphasis on a daughter’s dowry when she marries. For poor families, that kind of expectation is hard to meet and it makes them risk to be ostracized for failing to live up to society and social standards. Having a daughter is considered a burden, so people prefer to have sons instead.” She looked down at the book in her lap. “Pavuluri’s Potion was praised because wizards didn’t want to have daughters and at the same time, they didn’t want to get rid of them. Having a way to turn them into sons must have felt like a miracle. The potion was usually given to babies under one year old in order for the change to be ‘perfect’; I suppose it implies the psychological aspects of gender.”

“That makes no sense to me,” Ron mumbled. Sure, there were some families out there who were obsessed with having sons in order to keep the family name alive (inheritance was never a problem, witches being able to inherit as well as wizards), especially among the purebloods, but to actually change sex? Then again…”I heard Dad talk with my Uncles once, before I started Hogwarts,” he confessed. “Uncle Eduardus had joked about the fact people were starting to say the Weasleys had to have used Selection Charms to only have had sons for so many generations, and Uncle Constantine scowled and said it wasn’t funny.”

“Selection Charms? I don’t think Professor Flitwick ever told us about something like that,” Harry mentioned, startling Ron who had almost forgotten his best friend was here.

“There not everyday use charms,” Hermione replied for his benefit while Ron blushed, knowing what she was about to say. “It is used by a witch and a wizard who are about to, uh…” She blushed too; from the corner of his eyes, Ron could see Harry’s cheeks had become pink as well. “It’s to try and encourage a son’s conception. Lots of wizard families use them, especially the older families. One could call them a softer version of Sex-Changing Charms, which can also be practiced when a child is in-utero and are themselves an alternative to Sex-Changing Potions. But that kind of Charms is very hard to master and most of them aren’t very long-lasting. They’re usually favored by, uh, older witches and wizards who want to experiment, or by people who have… gender dysphoria and want to transition,” she added nervously.

Harry tilted his head, his eyebrows rising slowly. “Hermione, do you know someone at Hogwarts who was…?”

The bushy-haired cheeks looked like their were on fire and Ron couldn’t help but stare at her. “Hermione?” he asked uncertainly. “You aren’t…?”

“No! Of course not!” the witch exclaimed, scandalized. She bites her lips and hesitated. “Boys, can you promise you won’t laugh or freak out?” Ron and Harry exchanged a gaze and nodded.

“You have our promise, Hermione.”

“Alright. Alright… Where to start?” she mumbled. “I admit I was curious about the subject of Sex-Changing Charms, and I thought about trying once or twice, but I never did. Harry… Harry is on the right track, however. I can’t say I knew the student personally, but… do you remember Second year, when I was Petrified?” Both boys nodded; how could they ever forget? “I… wasn’t fully unconscious,” she said reluctantly. “I could hear people around me. After you visited me, I heard a student come in to talk with Madam Pomfrey -- and no, I won’t tell you who! He left school since then and his private life is no business of yours!” she glared.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Ron defended himself. Sure, he was curious, but it wasn’t a comfortable subject.

Hermione’s face softened. “Right. Anyway, I heard them talk. It turned out the student had come to have a Sex-Changing Charm reapplied for the week -- and that he had been doing so for about half his school years. Madam Pomfrey is apparently habilitated to cast them by both St Mungo and the Ministry for the sake of students who are ‘in a difficult mindset’.” She sounded like she was quoting a book and she was making a face that made Ron tense for some reason. “The Ministry agrees that someone who wants to permanently change sex should be able to do so, even if they put restrictions on the process to make sure it isn’t abused. Didn’t stop that awful woman to force Madam Pomfrey to stop dispensing them.”

“She didn’t!” Harry cried, scandalized. Ron’s jaw just dropped.

Honestly, he didn’t understand it all. The fact a bloke wanted to become a girl felt foreign to him (though he could understand a girl wanting to turn into a bloke, kinda; a part of his mind snidely supplied Millicent Bulstrode wouldn’t have needed much to make the transition) but, well, people were people and they had a right to do as they pleased under their own roof. Changing sex seemed like a small thing compared to, oh, illegally raise a dragon? And someone who went to a NURSE to change sex and had done so for year must have had a serious, legitimate reason. You couldn’t just refuse treatment to someone who needed it, right?

“Oh, she did,” Hermione said, sounding gloomy. “I was not supposed to know, but I overheard a conversation in the toilets once and… Nevermind. You only need to know there were students who were relying on those Charms at Hogwarts and that it’s a serious matter.”

“Wouldn’t have it been easier to just take a potion instead and be done with it?” Harry asked curiously.

“In theory, yes,” Hermione replied, “especially since it has been proved that the effects of a Potion last longer than those of a Charm. But anything to do with Sex-Changing, unless you know how to cast the spell or prepare the potion yourself, is extremely monitored. Can anyone tell me why?”

Ron had to think for a moment before he snapped his fingers just as Harry opened his mouth to speak. “Eh, the India thing, isn’t it a problem if they only have sons?”

“It is,” Hermione nodded approvingly. “Pavuluri’s Potion was praised at first, but a too liberal use ended up causing a gender imbalance in the Indian wizarding population in the middle of the 19th -- even more so because there is no antidote to it,” she revealed. “Sex-Changing Charms can be countered or lifted, and most Sex-Changing Potions’ effects can be ‘cured’ with a proper regimen, but there are a few which effects are permanents; Pavuluri’s Potion is one of them, though it was only discovered later. And don’t think about taking a new potion to revert to your original gender because that won’t work,” she warned.

“Once the potion is in your system, its effects are everlasting. Suffice to say, over-abuse of sex-changing potions lead to problems. The witches to wizards ratio had become catastrophic. Attempts were made by adults to transition using the potion, but it wasn’t nearly as successful as they hoped. Changing sex in a permanent manner is a big commitment and, well, it is usually done by people who really WANT to make the jump.” She was blushing again and looked down at the book in her lap.

“According to the notes in the margin left by Padma’s ancestors, it led to even more problems in the end. By the middle of the 19th, families started to use the Potion to change supernumerary sons into daughters in an attempt to reestablish the balance. The Indian Ministry of Magic finally swooped in and outlawed the use of Pavuluri’s by the general population Potion back in 1886, I’m unsure if having the recipe written in there is legal or not and I wouldn’t want Padma to have more problems, but anyway the birth of girls is now very praised in the Indian wizarding community. Parvati… Parvati liked to talk about all the gifts she had received from her cousins back in India at hers and Padma’s birthdays.”

Her voice broke at the end. The book fell from her lap.

Ron walked toward her and put a hand over her shoulder. Harry did the same thing. The three of them just stood there, silent, for a long while. Ron thought about Parvati, about Lavender, about the rest of Gryffindor. About his family. Ginny too had been praised and had received many gifts from relatives when she had been born, the first Weasley girl in almost two centuries. Was she alright? Ron had no way to know by this point. It gnawed at him, day after day, but he couldn’t storm out to try and find her. Not yet. It would only put him, Harry and Hermione in more danger -- and if she was somewhere safe, it would be like inviting trouble to her doorstep.

It was maddening.

Hermione breathed loudly. “A really interesting reading,” she finally said after a moment, bending down to pick the Patils’ book back up. “Perhaps you’d like to read it as well?”

If Ron was surprised at Harry’s quick answer that yes, he’d like to, he didn’t let it shown. Instead, he nodded. The reading sounded dry and boring but if it could cheer Hermione, then he’d do it. Besides, the whole ‘willingly change sex’ thing was still a little confusing; perhaps there were more about it in the book?

And just like that, the second nail was pounded in.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

If someone asked Harry Potter, the proverbial nail in the coffin had probably been the moment where they had found the Time-Turners -- the prototype ‘true’ Time-Turner and the real, fully functional ‘true’ Time-Turner -- in the abandoned house they had taken refuge for the night, unable to go back to the Patils house’s caves just yet. It had been a surprise, really; as far as Harry, Ron and Hermione knew, there was no functional Time-Turners left after the battle in the Department of Mystery.

Then again, given that the name written on the mailbox had been ‘Croaker’ and Harry remembered Mr Weasley telling him one of the wizards they had briefly passed by at the Quidditch World Cup had been an Unspeakable called Croaker, perhaps they shouldn’t have.

Stumbling on the obviously abandoned house had been a stroke of luck -- though given they had found a body lying still inside, perhaps not. Hermione had been more than willing to go and find another refuge for the night before they tried to Apparate back to the Patils’ house but Harry and Ron had opted against it; Apparating again so soon might be too dangerous, and none of them wished to lead Death Eaters or Snatchers back to the Patils.

As much as they wished to move, the caves remained a better hiding place than their tent and while Hermione’s reading hadn’t lead them to any new way to destroy a Horcrux, neither Ron nor Harry had found a good way to get anywhere near Nagini the snake, the last Horcrux they knew for sure.

They were, for a lack of better term, stuck.

Until they found the body and the Time-Turners, that’s it.

The body had no marks on, leading Ron to think he might have taken an Avada Kedavra, but the clear abandon of the corpse rather made Harry and Hermione to suspect the man had been Kissed by a Dementor, and his soulless body had died from exposure, hunger and thirst. Why he had been Kissed, they had no idea; unless Croaker had directly opposed Voldemort, they were no reason for the Dementors to have attacked him.

(It didn’t occur to them until much later that Saul Croaker and Augustus Rookwood, confirmed Death Eater, may have had an antagonistic relationship dating way back from the First War and that Rookwood, finally fed up with his former colleague, had taken steps to remove him from the picture. He probably would have pilfered Croaker’s possessions if, just after discreetly giving the Dementors the order to deal with Croaker, he hadn’t fallen prey to Black Cat Flu and had to stay in bed for nearly a month.)

(In the end, it was the trio who pilfered Croaker’s possessions, after making sure the dead wizard hadn’t booby-trapped them -- which he did. Being an Unspeakable wasn’t just about being mysterious and never talking about your work; it was also about being a sneaky bastard to defend your secrets. Lucky Harry and Ron had Hermione.)

They had given Saul Croaker a semi-decent burial -- meaning, they had wrapped him in a sheet they had found upstairs and dug a shallow grave in his garden, upon which Hermione had placed a marker. They had taken his wand -- they might need a spare, even if the wand didn’t feel right for any of them -- and some food that hadn’t spoiled, and the Time-Turners when they had discovered his office, of course, but they left the rest untouched.

Well… Harry and Ron had left the rest untouched, but Hermione had grabbed all the notes she had been able to find, to her friends’ astonishment. “We can’t let them for everyone to find,” she had argued. “And… I really need to read those. I think…” she had trailed off and remained close-lipped after that despite all their attempts at questioning her.

There was a light in her eyes that Harry had recognized; Hermione was on a quest.

They had returned to the Patils’ when dawn had started to rise and Hermione had sequestered herself in the office in the caves for several days. By the time she had emerged, Ron had been ready to blow up the door and Harry had been sparsely better.

“So, you have an explanation?”

The bushy-haired witch nodded and, without a word, came to the main cave where they had established their camp. Hermione carefully put the two Time-Turners on a pillow. Under the light of the runes above, the hourglass shapes seemed perfectly inoffensive and if Harry hadn’t seen what they could do back in Third year, he would have thought them nothing more than trinkets.

They didn’t look exactly like the one Hermione had used back then, Harry noticed right away; hers had contained a golden sand, whereas those ones contained a silvery sand and the other, a blue one. One had washed out colors, but the other gleamed like gold.

“Extraordinary,” Hermione kept murmuring and Harry had the feeling she was fighting down the urge to pinch herself in order to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Ron didn’t sound nearly as enthusiastic. “I don’t see what you find so extraordinary about a set of Time-Turners. Those things don’t go back more than a couple hours, do they? So what use could they be to us?”

Harry nodded along. “Five hours is the limit, right?” He had done a little side research while still in Hogwarts, after they had managed to save Sirius. He had hoped, perhaps naively, that there might have been a way to go back in time and to save his parents like he had just done with his godfather. Sadly, what he had learned had showed it was impossible. “And since we have to avoid seeing ourselves during that time lapse, it’s not very useful,” he continued. At least not yet. Though perhaps they could find a use for them? In any case, it would have been dangerous to just let them lie around. He could picture far too easily Voldemort or one of his supporters spotting Harry and his friends and using a Time-Turner to track them down and lay a trap for them.

It made him want to shudder.

Hermione waved her hand, eyes never leaving the two Time-Turners. “Normally, yes; Professor Croaker wrote in his book that five hours is the most one can travel in the past without causing lasting harm to themselves or to the timeline.” She sounded approving, making Harry shuffle. “I read it as well. Which is exactly the reason that the Time-Turners the Ministry kept were a basic kind -- only able to go back a couple hours, and you couldn’t alter the timeline without changes in the past and their effects being immediately spotted by people in the present time. It made for an easier monitoring.

“Time-Turners are considered dangerous and thinking back, I’m still amazed they let me have one for classes. But of course, it was a trivial use in a controlled setting, with Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore making sure I wasn’t abusing the laws of time. But those ones,” she murmured, brushing a finger against one of the Time-Turner, “aren’t like the Time-Turners kept in the Ministry. If they are what I think they are, then they’re highly illegal but also infinitely precious.”

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice was small and his breath had quickened. He had a vague feeling he knew what the bushy-haired witch was implying, and if he was right…

“You see, Professor Croaker didn’t stop working on the study of time after the publication of his book fifteen years ago,” she announced carefully. “The notes I took from his office were the ones he based his publications on, but lots of details were removed before it was approved for printing and he continued to work on them even after, perhaps for a revised edition, unless it was on order of the Ministry I suppose we may never know now.”

It still amazed Harry how much Hermione could say in one go without needing to breath. And the witch wasn’t finished.

“What I mean to say is, despite having pinned down the law that bear his name, Professor Croaker has discovered that the aforementioned law can be circumvented, provided you own and use a True Time-Turner.”

She looked down at the two hourglasses on the cushion.

“Because what you used wasn’t a true Time-Turner?” Ron asked blankly.

“Oh, it was, but not a true, True one,” Hermione explained -- or tried to; she sounded very frustrated, probably because she had a hard time putting it into words. “Time-Turners’ fabrication is hard and heavily controlled; a Ministry is only allowed to own a certain number or they’re in violation of the ICW’s rules. There are only a handful of qualified wizards who can make them -- and Professor Croaker was one of them. And, because he had a true passion for his subject, he… may have started to create a few more with less limitations than the ones owned by the Ministry.”

She fell silent, letting the boys to fill the blanks. Harry didn't think he could speak, emotion freezing his throat as Hermione pretty much confirmed the tentative hope he had started to nurse.

“So, basically… those things go back further than five hours?” Ron said tentatively.

“They can go much further, yes,” Hermione nodded. “I don’t think there actually is a limitation to just how far back.”

The possibilities were starting to make Harry’s head spin. Ron was frowning however. “But why would he have done that? If the Ministry couldn’t own more Time-Turners, he had no reason to create new ones, right?” Harry paused, looking at their friend. It was a pretty good question from Ron’s part and he almost kicked himself for not having thought about asking it himself.

Hermione hesitated. “Well… I guess Professor Croaker was very passionated about the object of his studies and…” She lowered her head. “I don’t think he was a bad person, Harry, but… Professor Croaker knew Lucius Malfoy. He knew him very well, even. There were letters shuffled in with the rest of the notes and I think he went to school with Lucius Malfoy’s father, though they didn’t seem to be in the same House. The Malfoys had a lot of influence, and Draco’s father is apparently a collector of rare and powerful items.”

“Hermione, are you trying to tell me that man made a Time-Turner working outside the normal limitation for Lucius MALFOY of all men?!”

“He probably wasn’t seeing any harm,” Hermione reasoned, wriggling her hands nervously. “According to the letters’ dates, Malfoy placed an order somewhere in the 80s and since he had been acquitted at the time… But that was just the one order he accepted, all the rest of his future Time-Turners would have been given to the Ministry, I’m certain!

“Yeah… if you think so,” Ron mumbled, obviously unconvinced. Harry wasn’t either, but Mr Weasley hadn’t seemed to dislike or be on bad terms with Croaker when he had pointed him out to Harry back at the World Cup. Of course, he had also told Harry he had no idea what the Unspeakable could get up to -- and Harry knew someone like his Uncle Vernon wouldn’t have say no to money if someone had offered him some.

He looked at the two Time-Turners again.

“Why do they look so different?” he asked despite himself.

“Ah, well, the one made of inexpensive metal is the last of Professor Croaker’s surviving prototypes -- the others all ended up broken or he destroyed them himself to get the parts and the sand back. According to his notes, it can bring you about anywhere back in time… but for about five minutes only,” Hermione added, biting her lips.

“Kinda useless then, no?”

“Oh no, Ron, I wouldn’t call that useless at all,” the bushy-haired witch shook her head. “A lot can happen in five minutes, and you only need a handful of second to create a catastrophe. It is a very limited time window to actually do something, of course, but it’s more than enough to alter the timeline significantly.”

“And the other?” Harry asked bluntly, eyeing the one which gleamed like gold. If the other was the prototype, then the other had to be…

“The finalized version of Professor Croaker’s True Time-Turner,” Hermione nodded, understanding the implied question in Harry’s eyes. “He had finished it barely a week ago and was still waiting for an opportunity to send or give it personally to Lucius Malfoy. It… is not restricted by time duration. If you use it, you can stay indefinitely in the past.” She swallowed. “The opportunities and potential for abuse it represent are infinite.”

She sounded fearful also awed and humbled, something Hermione seldom was.

Harry paid it no mind, however. His heart was beating too fast as he realized what they could do -- what HE could do thank to those devices.

“Hermione… we can go back in time and save my parents!”

And just like that, the third nail was pounded in.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Of course, just because the nails had been pounded, it didn’t mean they were fully buried yet.

Nor that Hermione would allow them to progress without a plan.

Even if said plan was very unorthodox.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

There were screams. There were tears. There were hard words that were immediately regretted but which lead to even more screams and tears. Wands weren’t drawn, but it was close.

The idea of going back in time wasn’t a bad one, everyone accepted it. But the problem was, they couldn’t agree on the period of time they should travel to and what they should do once they were there. Harry saw himself saving his parents and Sirius. Ron proposed they get rid of Voldemort early on, before he became the threat he was nowadays.

And Hermione kept shooting down their ideas, pointing out the possible consequences.

“You need to really think it through, the both of you! Every small change could drastically alter history as we know it! The consequences could be dramatic! Please, I know it’s not easy to listen to, but hear me out!”

She drew the wand of Croaker (of the three of them, she was the one who had the least troubles using it) and drew figures into the air. Neither Harry nor Ron knew what spell she was using, but luminous lines appeared in the air and started to move around to change into words or stick figures.

“Let’s start with Harry’s idea of going back to the Department of Mysteries in 1995 to save Sirius, shall we? As much as I wish we could save him, I can’t see a good way we could be able to.”

“Hermione!”

“Harry, please, think! How do you plan to just save Sirius exactly?”

The green-eyed teen stammered. “Well, I, uh, I’d go to the Ministry… to the Department of Mysteries… and I’d join the fight!”

“And will you avoid being seen by your past self -- by everybody’s past selves?” the bushy-haired witch replied sententiously, focusing her eyes on Harry. It made the Boy-Who-Lived freeze. “You didn’t forget, did you? You can’t afford to being seen by your past self unless you want to create temporal anomalies! We were lucky that last time resulted in a stable loop because if it hadn’t…!”

“Uh, is it so bad to be seen by your past self?” Ron asked, raising his hand as he would have in class (baring Umbridge’s, of course). He could see Hermione getting more and more incensed and it was never good when it happened. Her dramatic dropping of Divination and Malfoy’s slap came to mind easily. He needed to distract her, even slightly.

“Yes, Ron, yes it is,” she replied when she turned toward him. “Horrible things can happen to people who cross their own timeline and try to alter it. Professor Croaker’s notes were full of examples the Unspeakables encountered during their experiments with time and let me tell you, the ones in his books are the tame ones -- yes, even the Eloise Mintumble incident or the anonymous wizard who accidentally killed his past self. And you don’t want to know what happened to him after.”

The way she shuddered let Ron believe that, indeed, he didn’t want to know. Harry, however, looked mulish.

“Alright, so I can just barge in; but I can use the Invisibility Cloak to go, right? That way, nobody will know I’m here. I can just stun Bellatrix or some of the other Death Eaters while hidden and nobody will be the wiser.”

“You could,” Hermione nodded, “but do you remember who threw what around and when when the Order arrived and the battle truly raged? Because the possibility you end up taking a lost jinx are high. The Cloak might hide you, but it doesn’t render you intangible. If you bump into anyone or anything -- and the chances are high you will, even if you’re careful -- then someone will know you’re here. They’ll just have to throw an Accio and where will that leave you?”

“... That won’t work,” Harry replied after a moment of silence. “The Cloak is impervious to summoning spells… but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Hermione said, pleased, “but I’m trying to make you think here Harry, so you see all the angles of the problems. It’s not like when we saved Sirius in Third year. Back then, we just had to be sneaky and stay out of sight; here you’re suggesting taking direct action and while I’m not opposing your desire to do so, I want you to be rational about it. Summoning spells won’t work, but you could lose the Cloak another way. Imagine, if you misstep and someone walk on the hem and it’s partly pulled off?

“... I could always go while under Polyjuice,” Harry said next, eyes narrowed.

“Not a bad idea,” Hermione allowed, “but if you do, then how will you explain you have your -- Harry Potter’s -- Invisibility Cloak, hum? And you haven’t thought of your biggest obstacle yet,” she warned. “How exactly are you going to enter the Ministry, hmm?”

She raised a hand. “Let’s see, I can see three ways to enter the Ministry’s headquarters before it fell,” she started to list even as she moved her wand and the luminous lines started to move to form the date 1995 and a series of words: Ministry of Magic followed by three arrows leading to the words ‘Floo’, ‘Visitors’ and ‘Apparition’; Hermione loved an ordained presentation.

“You could use the Floo Network -- practical, easily usable… but not very discreet when it comes to arrival, even if you’re already under the cloak when you arrive, someone is bound to notice the flames and come investigate.” The lines arranged themselves in a big cross over the word Floo. Ron tried not to giggled when a few stubborn ones formed a frowning smiley despite Hermione trying to tame them; Harry wasn’t amused.

“Next, we have the visitors’ entrance; it’s actually the easiest and the only one usable if you’re a visitor in 1995. The lift isn’t under heavy surveillance, as we saw ourselves back then. The problem is, if you give your real name, it won’t grant a pass for your past self -- it has been tried before by the Unspeakable themselves according to Professor Croaker’s notes, which created a time paradox thankfully minor. So the lift is out as well,” she added, moving her wand so the word ‘Visitors’ was also crossed out.

“Then you have Apparition, something you can actually do now you’re seventeen, even if you don’t have your Licence. The problem is, the Ministry is warded against Disapparition and Apparition, unless you’re an employee or is powerful enough to circumvent the wards. Just taking the appearance of an employee won’t be sufficient, because it won’t let you in the wards.”

Her wand moved again; the word ‘Apparition’ was crossed over and a sad face appeared next to it. Hermione didn’t try to erase it, possibly because she was making the same face. She looked at Harry in the eyes. “So, I’m going to ask you again Harry, how will you get in?”

“She, uh, she got you there mate,” Ron murmured, uncomfortable and looking vaguely guilty.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Right. So you’re saying I can’t get in the Ministry to save Sirius. Alright. Let’s say I can’t.” Just saying the words seemed to cost him a lot and it was clear he was angry, but not angry to the point of dismissing Hermione’s arguments. That was good; it meant he could be reasoned with. “How about I contact him with the two-way mirror? Quick call, on the day of the battle, to tell him to be wary of Bellatrix?”

Merlin, Hermione hated shooting his hopes down but they needed to think about it rationally. 

“That’s already more feasible,” she said gently, “but there is another problem with it: how are you going to get your hand on the mirror?”

“But I already own it!”

“Correction Harry, you own the two-way mirror of this time period, which is connected to another, single mirror belonging to this timeline,” Hermione broke in gently. “The mirrors are charmed so they are only linked to each other. If you go back in the past, with your mirror, he’ll still be only linked to the mirror of this timeline and not to the one belonging to Sirius in 1995. You could, of course, try and sneak into Hogwarts to steal your past self’s exemplary, but it’ll be difficult. Do you remember the password for the Common Room for all the school year? Will you be able to stay out of sight? And,” she added in a breath as Harry grimaced, “even if you manage to, how are you going to explain the fact you’re obviously older? The moment Sirius will see your reflection; he’ll know that something is up! Try talking to him under Polyjuice? He may drop the conversation entirely because he’ll only see a stranger or at least someone who shouldn’t own the mirror he gave Harry Potter. He’ll suspect a trap at best or may not take any warning you give him seriously at worst.”

“So you’re saying it’s hopeless.”

“No, I’m saying it’s a good idea,” Hermione hastily replied, “much more sensitive than to engage in battle in the Ministry. But the problem, Harry, is that you can never account for human reaction and that, sadly, all the ways we may have to contact Sirius or protect him in 1995 are limited, watched, or inadequate. 1995… wasn’t a good year at all,” she sighed.

“We could send him an owl?” Ron proposed, and Harry’s face light up, as if he hadn’t thought of it. He hadn’t sent much mail in his Fifth year, especially after it had become obvious Umbridge was going through it, but it was such a simple solution…

Hermione paused, thoughtful, then she shook her head.

“It’s thoughtful as well, but Grimmauld Place is under the Fidelius.”

“So? It didn’t stop you from receiving my letters when you were there in the summer,” Harry said, crossing his arms.

“We did, but that was because you were using Hedwig,” Hermione sighed. At Harry’s startled look, she had to explain. “You see, the first time you sent her after Dumbledore cast the spell, she stayed outside, in the street. She knew we were there, but she couldn’t find us because we were hidden from her inside the house. She must have stayed out for a long while before we noticed her. Dumbledore retrieved her and gave us your letters and while I have no proof, I’m fairly certain he told Hedwig the Secret because she had no trouble finding 12 Grimmauld Place afterward. Telling where to find Grimmauld Place to Hedwig was harmless, she couldn’t have repeated it and she was your trusty owl. So unless you can get your hands on her in 1995 and have her accept your letter…”

Harry’s fists clenched and unclenched for several minutes. “Dammit Hermione, why do you have to ruin everything?!”

“I’m not ruining everything!” the bushy-haired bristled and snapped back. “I’m trying to make sure we don’t make a mistake that would get us killed or which would render your present even worse than it is already! You think I’m happy, playing Devil’s advocate? Well, I’m not and it’s the last thing I want to do! But I care too much about Ron, about you, about your lives and mine to risk them carelessly! I know we could live in a much better place if we played things right, I know it. With those Time-Turners, there are so many people we could save, so many lives that wouldn’t end up in tragedy…” she babbled. “But I don’t want to do it at the cost of your lives, yours or Ron’s! That’s why we can’t just get rid of You-Know-Who before 1981, Harry, or why we can’t save your parents, because that’d risk erasing you both from the timeline!”

“Uh, Hermione, you’re sure you haven’t drunk too much Butterbeer here?” Ron let out, eyebrows raising.

She wasn’t listening to him, she wasn’t even looking at them. Eyes downcast, she was still speaking. “Because it could happen, I had time to think about it while I was reading Professor Croaker’s notes and trying to come up with a plan and I realized that there are so many things we don’t know about because no adults ever told us how it really was during You-Know-Who’s rise but then I thought back about Mrs Weasley’s comment on quick marriages during the First War and I thought, well, your parents were very much in love Harry, but they still rushed into marriage right after finishing school and they had you when they had barely turned twenty when statistic show most wizards and witches don’t marry or have children before they hit the mid twenties at the very least and now I can’t shake this awful feeling that if You-Know-Who hadn’t existed, perhaps Harry’s parents wouldn’t have ended together.”

Harry stared at her, mouth open. Where the hell had that come from? He very much wanted to deny it, but Hermione didn’t let him a chance.

“And I know it’s stupid, they probably would have married anyway, but now I thought about it I can’t shake it off and it’s the same with Ron because I realized that his parents too married early on while there was a War going on and while it only officially started around the time of Bill’s birth, who’s to say they would have kept on having so many children if there hadn’t been one? Imagine, if we stop You-Know-Who while in the mid-seventies before Ron or Ginny or even the Twins are even born and it throws off Ron’s parents daily life, would the Twins be born at all? Would Ron and Ginny?”

“Hermione, you’re starting to freak me out,” Ron stated as he looked at her as if he had never saw her before. He knew the bushy-haired witch had a tendency to worry and overthink things but she was taking it to a whole new level, one he felt very uncomfortable with -- possibly because it was touching his family.

He wanted to dispel the idea, but Hermione had been right on a point; once it was in your head, you couldn’t just shake it off. Of course his parents would have kept having children, War or not War. But at the same time, the redhead remembered some of Aunt Muriel’s snide words and how some had sounded disturbingly like Hermione’s theory.

It made him want to gag.

And Hermione hadn’t finished speaking.

“You think I don’t want to grab this Time-Turner and try to save, I don’t know, all our classmates who died in Hogwarts? Because I do, Harry, I truly do, but I’m fighting the urge because what can I do when I’m alone and I don’t even know why and when the insurrection in Hogwarts started? And if I do learn and find a plan, who’s to say I’ll manage to pull through and won’t get caught and then it’d dramatically modify our lives?” Tears were running down her face now and Ron awkwardly rose up to put a hand over her shoulder in comfort, but she shook away from him, hugging herself close.

Harry shuffled, his anger subsiding gradually as the torrent of words left Hermione’s mouth and her sobs increased. She looked so worried and miserable right now it was hard to continue to be furious at her. She was only trying to help, even if she was saying things Harry would have preferred never to hear.

But what was new about it, really?

Harry’s heart sank. He was used to always be denied what he wanted, by the Dursleys, by the world in general: happiness, a normal life,... Harry was starting to think it wasn’t for him, all thank to that stupid scar on his forehead. All thank to a Dark Wizard who didn’t want to stay dead and a prejudiced society who was either following him, was too cowardly to truly stand against him, or was hoping a teenager would sort everything out for them. Well, not Mrs Weasley at the very least; if she had had her ways, Harry and his friends would have never ventured out to fight Voldemort. And there were probably other people like her as well.

The thing was, Harry had to fight even if sometimes he would have preferred not to. He was the one Voldemort had marked, the Chosen One of the prophecy, and Voldemort would never stop to chase him just like the press would probably always hound him should he manage to survive the defeat of the Dark Lord -- and he preferred not to think about the Wizarding world’s expectations for him. He would never be Just Harry, his single most dearest wish.

Could he blame Hermione for wanting to be thorough and overly careful about the Time-Turners? Yes, he could, but it wouldn’t help, wouldn’t change the fact that, despite Harry’s wishes, his friend was right. They couldn’t just rush this.

But it was so frustrating, knowing they might have a perfect mean to end this all before more people had to die in the present (or in the past) and not being able to use it right away!

“Hermione…”

“And I know it’s not fair we can’t same the Potters, but if you think about it, it’s their death and Harry’s mother sacrifice for her son which sealed You-Know-Who’s fate and ended the First War and if they don’t die, if we managed to tell them somehow that Pettigrew was the traitor and they escaped then they’d be on the run and You-Know-Who would keep tracking them and he would still be in power and many more people would be killed, Muggles and wizards alike and that would include our classmates perhaps while they’re still in the cradle because he showed he had no pity for children, look at what he tried to do to Harry and what the Lestranges would have done to Neville if he had been with his parents when they caught up with them and did you know Susan had lost several cousins, one of which was a baby barely older than her? Her Aunt was pregnant when she died as well,” she added, looking crestfallen and Ron swallowed nervously. “And the fighting would only grow worse with time and perhaps it would even sweep in Ron’s family since the Death Eaters consider them traitors to their blood and it’s only a matter of time before they move against them anyway…”

“You don’t know how right you are here, Granger.”

The three of them jumped and turned around at the unexpected voice, Ron and Hermione’s wands at the ready. Padma Patil just stared, her unscarred eyebrow raising. It took a few heartbeats, but the trio calmed down and lowered their wands.

“Padma,” Ron let out uneasily. “We hadn’t heard you enter. What’s bringing you?”

“Yes, I have noticed, and given all the racket you were making, I’m not surprised. I won’t ask what you were discussing exactly, but I think it’s glaring obvious. As to what’s bringing me… I’m afraid it’s not good news. There has been an attack... ” She paused, looking at Ron with sympathy. Harry’s heart sank again and he heard Hermione softly gasp, immediately covering her mouth with her hands. Ron just started to shake his head in denial.

“No…”

“I’m sorry, Ron, I really am…”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It wasn’t Ron’s parents or his siblings Harry thought thankfully -- as far as the trio knew, Arthur Weasley’s family was safe at Muriel’s place wherever it was, hidden under a Fidelius charm. But the teenager’s relief was short lived in the face of the choked, pitiful cry Ron made after being informed of the death list.

Just because Ron’s parents and siblings had been safe (even Percy, for a certain value of safe since he had cut all ties with the rest of the family except perhaps some of his cousins and as such wasn’t under as much suspicion as the rest of the Weasleys) didn’t meant Arthur’s brothers and their own children -- and grandchildren! -- had been.

Harry could only sit besides Ron, holding one of his hands tightly while Hermione, sitting on the redhead’s other side, did the same. She was also letting her head rest against Ron’s shoulder. Padma Patil, sitting on the ground in front of them, was watching them with a blank face though her eyes were soft.

“You… you’re sure that…?”

“Potterwatch confirmed it. Rivers had to do the announcement alone, Rapier couldn’t say two words.” She breathed deeply and recited again on a monotone tone. “Eduardus Weasley and his wife Isadora Weasley née Pritchard. The couple’s youngest son, Roland Weasley, aged 24. The couple’s second son, Edgar Weasley. Eduardus Weasley’s oldest son Owen Weasley and his wife Norah Weasley née Ravencroft and their two daughters Ellen Weasley, aged 9 …”

“Please…!” Ron choked.

“... and Erica Weasley, aged 3 and half and who should have turned 4 in July,” Padma continued on the same monotone. “Francis Weasley, eldest son of Constantine Weasley, and his new fiancée, Muggleborn witch Bridget Porter. He had apparently instigated a family gathering in order to present her to his cousins, Uncle and Aunt and a group of Death Eaters dropped by -- along with Snatchers who were in the neighborhood, tracking down ‘unregistered Muggleborns’, which Bridget Porter apparently was. Never mind the fact that she wasn’t British and it’s going to kickstart international trouble. The couple had just come back from...”

“America,” Ron supplied in a very small voice. “Francis works… worked…” it seemed to be painful for him to say “... for the Bobbin family, the owners of the chain of apothecaries. They were starting to reach out for the international market, they were hiring, he left right after graduation. He hadn’t been able to make it to Bill’s wedding you know, said he had too much work but I guess it’s because he was busy wooing his girl. Merlin, perhaps he thought he would surprise us with a wedding not even a year after Bill. He… he probably hadn’t known the situation had gotten so bad for Muggleborns…”

He started to laugh, but tears were trailing down his face. Harry and Hermione exchanged a concerned look over his shoulders and squeezed his hands harder, not knowing what to say or what else to do.

“Who else?” the redhead asked between two hiccup's, eyes on Padma. “If they were having a family gathering, then Luke had to have been there as well -- Uncle Eduardus third son? And… Oh Merlin, what about Amaryllis? She’s Edgar’s wife, she would have been with them too! Bill told me… Bill told me that he had received a letter from them recently saying that they thought she might be pregnant!” His eyes were haunted.

Padma lowered her gaze and sighed. “Amaryllis Weasley née Berryman, wife of Edgar Weasley, managed to Apparate immediately to St Mungo, seeking help. I’ve heard nothing about a possible pregnancy so far. Luke Weasley’s whereabouts are unknowns for now. We might know more with the next Potterwatch show.”

Ron swallowed. “The rest of the family?”

Padma shrugged. “Nothing about them on Potterwatch or in any of the newspapers. They’re apparently safe.”

For a long moment there was only silence, making Ron’s heavy, laborious breath painful to hear.

“Ron…” Hermione started in a small voice.

The redhead closed his eyes and leaned back before he started to talk in a raspy voice. “Uncle Eduardus, that’s Dad’s oldest brother, he always loved a good drink; Auntie Isadora always had hangover cures on her when they came to a party, and she always had her wand at the ready to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid.” Harry remembered the older, drunk wizard who had grabbed him at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, asking if he was one of his sons; had it been Eduardus Weasley?

“His sons, they were all older than Percy, around Bill and Charlie’s age for the youngest, same with my uncle Constantine’s sons. Roland was kinda like Percy -- all stiff and serious, he worked with the Owl Post, he sent us owl treats for Errol every year at Christmas. Edgar, now, he was fun, with a wicked sense of humor but he was also very nice with us kids. He always kept an eye on us when we played Quidditch or raced on our brooms, gave us tips to go faster; he would have been a great Dad, you know? And Owen! Everyone thought for sure he was into other blokes, you know, because he was always a little precious. Fred and George swore Uncle Eduardus and Aunt Isadora fainted when he presented them Norah, but I think they were joking. Then they had little Ellen and everybody was awed because Ginny had been born a couple years before and had been the first Weasley girl in several generations and nobody was expecting another quite so soon. And little Erica! Didn’t know her that much because we didn’t often visit them, but I remember Mom knitting layette for her when we heard she was born. I…” He swallowed. “I…”

And he burst into tears again. Harry and Hermione just held him until he calmed down. Padma rose and left them some privacy, though from the noise they could hear in the next cave, she wasn’t too far. Probably making herself some tea, Harry thought dispassionately. He couldn’t bring himself to care for the moment; all his mind was turned toward comforting Ron, comforting his best friend.

Even if it took hours.

“I need to go,” Ron finally said once his sobs had quieted. His eyes were red from the tears but hard and he was holding himself stiffly, pushing Harry and Hermione away to stand up.

“Ron, that’s too…!” Hermione cut herself off before she could finish when the redhead looked her way. There was something hard and unmovable in those eyes, still puffed from the crying and she hesitated. “You can’t go alone,” she murmured instead. “You need someone to watch your back. Let us go with you.”

“What Hermione said,” Harry nodded. “Give us the address and let’s go -- and keep your wands at the ready, you never know; it could be a trap.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It was, in the end, no trap.

Though they did find someone waiting for them at the destroyed house of Eduardus Weasley, and that someone’s presence was unwelcome.

It was lucky Harry had no wand in hand because he saw red the moment he noticed the familiar, unwelcome silhouette in the twilight; his nerves were so raw, he could have thrown an Avada Kedavra without regret.

That man was the very last person he wished to see now, asides of Voldemort. And he wasn’t on his friends’ favorite list either; they whipped their wand at him and sent out hexes that were easily countered by a Shield Charm;

Then, against all expectations, the man dropped his wand to the ground deliberately and took a step back, hands raised.

Nobody spoke. A raven’s croaks filled the air as the sun sunk behind the horizon.

Harry was still furious, and he entertained dark thoughts. But attacking a disarmed man? Someone who was obviously trying to make a truce? Hatred wavered against curiosity.

Finally, he spoke. “You have some nerves, coming here. Just give me a reason, a single reason to not kill you here and now.” He didn’t know if he truly could, but Merlin he felt like trying.

Ron and Hermione’s wands still pointed at him, Severus Snape just gave a terse nod.

“Potter. Weasley. Granger. There is much we need to discuss.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The last months didn’t seem to have been kind on Severus Snape, Hermione noted right away as their former Professor sat before them in the Patils’ basement, bound in the ropes she had conjured with an Incarcerous.

Professor Snape seemed to have lost a lot of weight recently; he had always been rather thin but Hermione had the sneaky feeling that if she looked under his clothes, she would be able to count his ribs through his skin. He looked like he was floating in his robes. He looked paler than what Hermione remembered and his hair even oiler and Hermione wasn’t the only one who noticed how tired he seemed to be. Two fingers were missing from his left hand, possibly since the battle at Hogwarts, and there was a long, curved scar running horizontally on his forehead. His nose seemed to have been broken and healed wrong and when he moved, it was easy to see the line of another scars -- several other scars, actually -- running down from under his jawline and disappearing under the collar of his robes.

It reminded an uncomfortable Hermione of the tales of surviving Hogwarts students about knives-welding students attacking Slytherins and the Carrows. She dearly hoped that the rumors someone had carved out Alecto Carrow’s heart were just that, rumors because if she considered the evidence, then someone had obviously tried to cut Professor Snape’s throat.

All things considered, their former Professor looked pathetic. Despite this, he still stood with a straight back and the gaze he was heading at them was heated -- though it didn’t seem to be with hatred.

Snape’s wand lay in another cave, carried away by Padma who had refused to join herself to the discussion -- indeed, she had tried to curse Snape the moment she had laid her eyes on him, almost frothing at the mouth. The dark-haired man had taken her actions stoically, just as he had stayed quiet when Ron had grabbed Padma and forcefully dragged her away until they could explain why their most hated Professor was here.

It was probably just as well, because what he had revealed to them was hard to stomach for their trio, and Hermione wasn’t sure how much Padma would have managed to endure, even if she wasn’t concerned by Dumbledore’s plans -- and his secrets.

Learning they had guessed right and that Dumbledore had indeed intended for Harry to die facing Voldemort was a hard blow, but the fact they had managed to work it up themselves with Harry’s bout of depression and possibly suicidal mood helped to cushion the hardest part. Learning the Headmaster’s death had been prearranged with Snape because he was dying so Snape could continue to spy without his loyalty being called into doubt had made Harry punch a wall, to Hermione’s disapprobation -- and Snape’s as well.

“Don’t count on me to repair your fingers if you broke any, Potter.”

Though he flinched away when Harry turned and looked at him. Harry’s glasses had slide down his nose and his too-green eyes shone with fury. His mother’s eyes, as Harry had often heard, and they had a strange power on Severus Snape. It made his stomach a little queasy to know this man had loved his mother, loved her so much he had betrayed the Dark Lord and assured Lily Potter’s son protection despite clearly despising him. Harry didn’t know what to think of Snape at this moment while in the back of his mind, little details seemed to add up.

Despite his frequent belittling of James Potter, Harry couldn’t remember a single time where he had uttered anything, good or bad, about Harry’s mother. He had spend Harry’s school years humiliating him and bullying him because he was James Potter’s son but despite that, he had never allowed any true harm to come to Harry because he was also Lily Evans’ son. Harry wondered why no one had thought fit to tell him Snape had been a friend of his mother; if he had known, he… probably wouldn’t have liked the man any better, of course, but it would have changed things. Perhaps.

God, did that meant that ‘awful boy’ Aunt Petunia had overheard talking about the Dementors had been Snape? Because it fit, it fit so much better than if it had been James Potter! Snape would have been the one to introduce Lily Evans to the wizarding world, long before she met James Potter, just like Hagrid had been the one who had introduced Harry to magic. And while Ron and Hermione would forever remain his best friend, Harry knew he would always have a soft spot for the Keepers of the Keys.

In a flash, Harry remembered Hermione’s earlier comment about his parents possibly not ending together if there hadn’t been a War, if Voldemort hadn’t existed. Without the Dark Lord fuelling a lonely, awkward boy cravings for recognition and power, would Lily Evans had broken her friendship with Snape? If she hadn’t broken their friendship over harsh words and Snape’s fascination with the Dark Arts, would Lily Evans had ended falling for him?

His stomach almost rebelled at the thought but if anything, it made Harry much more aware of Hermione’s warnings about playing with time.

Speaking of Hermione, she and Snape had been talking and he hadn’t even paid attention to the conversation; it made him want to slap himself. He needed to pay attention to the details, damnit, just like Ron was doing. Arms crossed and scowling fiercely, Harry doubted he had lost a single word.

“... like Dumbledore, I failed to consider the human element,” Snape was saying, face lowered and his hair hanging like greasy curtains around his chin. “As he never saw fit to tell me exactly what he had sent you and how he was expecting you to act, supposedly to avoid leaking the information to the Dark Lord, I didn’t know where to find you. I spent too much time holed in the Headmaster’s office, trying to track you down or answering the Dark Lord’s summons, far too much. I had been trying to subtly undermine the Carrows but my frequent leaves allowed them more leeway than I had hoped. I shouldn’t have been surprised when eventually, the rebellion started -- though I had never thought they would involve the younger students as well.” His lips pursed, uncovering his teeth. “Nor would have thought they’d poison the dinner.”

“Do you know who… who could have…?”

“Hard to say, Miss Granger. Anyone with a good knowledge of Potions or even of Herbology could have done it; the world is full of dangerous herbs which work just as well as the most deadly of Potions. Someone just needed to distract or bribe the House Elves, and…” he shrugged or at least as much as his bounds allowed him to.

“A dreadful affair. The First years were the first ones to start choking, probably because of their weight -- assuming everyone consumed the same quantity of poisoned food, the lighter bodies would be the first ones to show symptoms. Pandemonium broke right after. Wands were drawn and spells were fired from all directions toward Slytherin table -- and toward the Carrows, who had no trouble using other teachers as shields.”

“And yourself,” Hermione commented.

“And myself,” Snape nodded briefly, “though I can’t say I care. I was too busy blocking spells and trying to see how my esteemed colleagues were reacting. To Slughorn’s credit he immediately carried himself to the rescue of the youngest student. I know someone went to pick Madam Pomfrey and her nurses because I remember seeing them in the chaos. For the rest…It was mostly Slytherins against everyone else, but there were some Ravenclaws and assorted members of the other Houses protecting them as well. Siblings, cousins, friends,...” he listed. “Families tend to get Sorted in the same House, but not always.” He made a discreet nod toward the cave where Padma was waiting. “Sadly, it doesn’t account for much in troubled time.”

“It never does,” Hermione nodded, eyes sad. “I still can’t believe they did it, Professor.” And she was back to using a proper title with the man, Harry noted. Sometimes Hermione was far too respectful of adults.

“Who does? It was a nasty shock to the outside world as well and to the Dark Lord in particular; he had never expected resistance from inside Hogwarts with Dumbledore gone.” He frowned. “Stupid. Statistically speaking, he should have realized that with only a quarter of the students willing to follow him -- and not all of Slytherin House supported him, despite the rumors -- and only two teachers in his pocket, three if he included me, something was bound to happen. The price of their revolt, however, was far too high.” He seemed to go even paler, if it was possible.

“How many…?” it was Ron who asked, sounding unsure. He still looked at Snape angrily, but not as murderously as before; knowing Dumbledore’s death had been planned and that George’s ear had truly been an accident (they had to take Snape’s word for it because they had no truth potion to give him, but the man didn’t seem to be lying) had helped sooth some of his anger.

“No official stats were given, Weasley, but I personally estimate that two thirds of the students died during the Dark Lord’s attack and thank to the out of control Fiendfyre, including the major part of Slytherin House. You’ll be hard pressed to find a family in wizarding Britain which hasn’t lost a member.” He paused, lips pursing again. “The Dark Lord won’t see it, but the smart ones among us know that magical Britain is at serious risk of dying out now.”

“Oh, surely not…!” Ron exclaimed.

“Ron, he’s right,” Hermione murmured sadly before Snape could snap back at the redhead. “Hogwarts is the only school of witchcraft and wizardry in Great Britain, and it holds easily 95% of the children between 11 and 17, the rest being home-schooled or sent to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Even if Hogwarts was only accepting pure blooded and half-blooded students this year, it still accounted for several hundreds of children. The school’s destruction means that a whole generation of pureblood wizards got wiped out, so that only leaves Muggleborn wizards to grow up and have children. But Muggleborns are hunted down, sent to Azkaban or killed off; they won’t have children either if You-Know-Who’s regime has anything to say about it. Even if we assume there are plenty of children under 11 left, how much time until they grow up and have families of their own? Assuming they even grow up to become adults; think about your little cousins, Ron.” The redhead paled.

“Now, some families might try to have another child, but it’s never as easy as it sounds; you can’t just say ‘eh, I want a baby’ and have it arrives nine months later, can you? Am I right, Professor?”

“Don’t count on me to give points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger, but you’re on the right track,” Snape drawled. “I don’t see my estimated colleagues changing their mind now -- their prejudices are too deeply rooted for that, and the death of their children or grandchildren didn’t help their sanity. Narcissa Malfoy is a good example.”

“Malfoy? What did she do?”

“You’d be surprised, Potter, of how much Narcissa loved her son. She could be a hard woman, but her love for her family was always genuine -- though in those last years, it mainly extended to her husband and her only son. With an older sister in Azkaban and the other disgraced by an unworthy marriage, they were her standing rock. Losing Draco was too much for her, when she had gone out of her say so much to try and save him before. And sadly, Bellatrix’s callous comments didn’t help her sanity. Narcissa’s sanity finally broke after one word too many, and she decided to make her sister pay.” 

“She killed Bellatrix Lestrange?” Ron asked, startled.

“No, she killed the newly born daughter of Bellatrix,” Snape said coldly, making the three teenagers gasp.

“That awful woman, a mother?”

“Who was the father?” Harry immediately asked, feeling like a pit had opened at the bottom of his stomach. He saw Bellatrix Lestrange née Black in his mind, seemingly uncaring for her husband and in adoration in front of Voldemort.

Snape’s eyes flashed. “I think we’re all much happier not knowing, though I suppose we all drew the same conclusion.” He gave the three sickened teenagers a knowing look. “The Dark Lord showed little reaction, stating Bellatrix could have other children later -- which I seriously doubt; she isn’t a young woman anymore. As for Bellatrix herself, well… let’s just say Lucius is now a widower.” He inclined his head softly.

“It’s horrible,” Hermione finally said, turning away and hugging herself.

“Life usually is, Miss Granger.”

“How can you sound so calm, after everything you just told us?”

“Lot of practice, Miss Granger. I’ve always made a point of not letting myself be ruled by my emotions.” If so, he had failed spectacularly, Harry thought privately; his resentment for James Potter had always outshone any affection he might have have for Lily Potter. And Snape had never seemed to be able to keep calm where Sirius was concerned.

“We… we should have done something,” Ron muttered, downcast.

“I hardly think you’d be able to do much about what happened in Hogwarts, Weasley. Things had started to go downhill long before you entered the school,” Snape commented. “I always told Albus that Slytherin House was too isolated, its reputation too tarnished, but he never listened. Dumbledore had many qualities, but he refused to see how deep the problem was, thinking Slytherin was just fine. With so many Death Eaters children in and spreading their Anti-Muggles and Anti-Muggleborns agendas to the younger students, who in turn perpetuated it with the newly Sorted, it was a vicious circle. And then you had the other end of the spectrum, with children from the so-called Light families being raised with the idea Slytherin students were all evils, even 11 years old who probably had done no bigger wrong than accidentally walking on a cat’s tail. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was exactly what happened with the poisoned feast; if all Slytherins are evil to the last one, then it’s easier to poison them all, even the innocents.”

He let his head loll to the side. “Someone should have sorted them all out when they were still young,” he mumbled.

Harry blinked and tilted his head, thinking. That last sentence… It was the tone that got to him more than the words; Snape’s voice was full of regret, something he hadn’t thought his former Potions teacher could feel. In a way, Harry thought he understood; Snape had lost his best friends from having made the bad choices, but he had also made them because he had been surrounded by prejudiced individuals and he had been desperate to fit in with his classmates, with his dorm mates.

Just how many young wizards and witches had lived through the same thing, forgetting old friendship to better fit with society’s expectation? Well, not so much society, because Harry hadn’t seen much of life outside Hogwarts but from the little he had seen, the House rivalries didn’t apply in the adult world (the blood prejudice, however, remained strong).

And in doing so, how many had been swept up in ideology they didn’t fully believe in but couldn’t drop out of?

_‘Sorted them all out when they were still young.’_

“Would it have truly made a difference?” he asked despite himself. Snape raised an eyebrow at him. Harry fidgeted. “I mean, with their families teaching them their own prejudices at home…”

The look Snape headed his way was wistful and lacking its usual heat. “You’d surprised, Potter, of what a neutral environment can do for someone and how one can act when cut from their families, even temporarily.”

“He’s not wrong.” Harry looked behind him at Padma Patil’s scarred face. The Indian witch was eyeing Snape still as coldly but at least she wasn’t aiming her wand at him this time. “We used to hang out with Pansy when we were children.” She didn’t mention Parvati’s name, but it was easily understood by everyone who ‘we’ were. “Not often, but we did. We used to hold tea parties for our dolls under the oaks behind Parkinson Manor while our mothers talked shop. We weren’t doing too badly for ourselves… until Pansy’s older cousins started to say she shouldn’t hang out with half-bloods, and she listened. Her barely seen older cousins’ word was more important than our friendship.” She snorted. “Any hope we had of fixing our differences went down by the time we were Sorted. As a Ravenclaw, I was tolerable to be around. As a Gryffindor…” she paused and shook her head. “Children are too easily influenced by the world around them, as our ‘dear’ Professor, oh, sorry, ‘Headmaster’ told you.”

She glared at Snape again before turning on her heels and leaving the cave. It didn’t escape Harry that Snape watched her go with a considering look. The Boy-Who-Lived closed his eyes and breathed in loudly. He could feel a headache coming -- naturally or than to his shared link with Voldemort, he had no idea -- and he resisted the urge to massage his temples.

There were so many questions he wished to ask Snape, about Hogwarts, about his role as a spy, about his _mother_ \-- dear Lord, almost nobody spoke of Lily Potter to him, Sirius had always been about James and Remus as well -- but now wasn’t the time.

Snape’s earlier comment had wedged into his brain and he needed to talk with Hermione and Ron about the tentative idea it was giving him.

“Ron, Stun him,” he said aloud, startling everyone. He directed a level stare at Snape. “Sorry, Professor, but I need to talk with them and I don’t wish you not to listen in or accidentally overhear something you shouldn’t, and I don’t want to have to Obliviate you so you won’t go and repeat it to Vol... You-Know-Know,” he corrected himself, mindful of the Taboo on the Dark Lord’s name.

“Such consideration, Potter,” Snape murmured sarcastically. “Being on your side clearly isn’t…”

“Being on my side,” Harry replied caustically, “doesn’t mean much if the Dark Lord somehow finds out you actually are and torture you for information. And he can break Memory Charms -- he did it with Bertha Jorkins,” he remembered with disgust.

“You do realize a few drops of Forgetfulness Potions with the right suggestions would have the same effects as a Memory Charms, without the possibility of being broken unless the right Potion is administered, Potter?” His lips curled at the startled look Harry gave him. “You never understood the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, Potter; I’m not surprised this option eluded you.”

He could have snapped at him, but that wouldn’t help. Harry just gritted his teeth. “Right. We’ll discuss it later. Ron, Stun him. We need to talk.”

A red light, and Severus Snape knew no more.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“... yeah, I admit, it’s an interesting idea; I know for sure Mom would have liked it ‘cause it was hard, teaching us all. But I’m not sure how it would help us get rid of You-Know-Who, honestly.”

“Well, if anything, it’d cut his power base if we can make it work? I mean, if we played this right, we could…”

“... take years to pull it off! And it might not even work!”

“... yes, but what else can be do? Asides of the diary and perhaps the ring, we don’t know for sure when he created his Horcruxes; he may have not turned them right after getting them, after all! We can’t just go chase him through time without having those informations beforehand, so Harry’s plan has merit… ”

“And we might even avoid the Hogwarts massacre; think of the children, Ron. You really want a bunch of kids under fifteen to die because the Hat decided they had ambition -- ambition to perhaps become the greatest Healer ever, or to become an Auror, or to be rich and famous and have the world remember who they are?”

“... you’re playing dirty, the two of you. But I see the point. The Slytherins we know are bastards -- sorry for the language, Hermione! -- but that doesn’t mean they all are, I get it. Just like all Gryffindors aren’t perfect; look at Percy or at Wormtail.”

“Not exactly the same level, but if you’re comfortable with the example…”

“Even assuming it works, how do we set it up? We’d need money, and to register with the Ministry at the very least. We’d need a place to live, we’d need a place to install everything, we’d need to spread the word we exist,... And we can’t do that without setting up an identity, can we? That takes time. And how do you plan to even stay in…?”

“... according to the notes I read, if it’s destroyed, then you’re stranded, and that might be the only way for us to make it work -- though it opens a fascinating idea; would we truly be in the past, or in a new, parallel world?”

“You really think now is the time to ask yourself that kind of question?”

“Well, no, of course not. But if we do that, then we’ll never see our families again…”

“If we don’t, then I’m not sure we will have much family left; your parents are safe for now even if they don’t know you anymore, but they already went after Ron’s extended family, and if you think it’s only because his cousin brought in a Muggleborn, then you’re being naive, Hermione! The next you’ll know they’ll…!”

“... hate saying it, but he’s right, ‘Mione. Still, it’s not as if…”

“... project like that could be hard to pull together if we don’t have the right person sponsoring us somewhat and…”

“... Don’t tell me you want to ask…? Oh fuck, do you truly want and try to curry favors with that…?!”

“It’s the best solution we…! And it’s not like we would ask him from the beginning, more like we could… manipulate him into giving us support.”

“Alright, alright, I see your point; he’s influent, he’s well connected,... but how do you hope to get him to back you, hum? By throwing stats at him?”

“It might not be a bad idea, actually; of course, we will need to do lots of researches, see what education is like in other countries…”

“... You know, I always wanted to know more about the world, especially the wizarding one, to travel,... Come to think, how come Hogwarts doesn’t teach…?”

“Eh, you’re right; that would have interesting -- or at least no worse than Binns’ class.”

“... brillant idea! And we can tie it with our first project!”

“Won’t Dumbledore suspect…?”

“As you said, it would take years to be properly done, if it’s a gradual demand, it could work. That’s how they ended up creating the Frog Choir and the Arts Extracurriculars, actually; Celestina Warbeck’s mother asked so much about artistic options and managed to rally so many parents to her that the Headmaster at the time had to…”

“... that’s… really Slytherin of us all, isn’t it?

“Well, sometimes you have to fight with the enemy’s weapons, I guess.”

“... didn’t think of one thing, though; if we do that, we might get easily recognized. I mean, Hermione might not, what’s with being Muggleborn, but you and I, Harry… And if someone recognize us as older versions of ourselves, then we’re done for, right?”

“Well… there might be a way to avoid recognition. It’s a bit extreme and unorthodox, I admit but…”

“... You’re not being serious?! Nonononono, no way!”

“Gonna side with him there, Hermione; what the hell?”

“Do you have a better idea? Nobody would suspect it! And honestly, trading your manhood to save the world might be a small price to pay!”

“Easy for you to say!”

“Wanna bet? I’d change as well, and I’m comfortable as I am.”

“Say the girl who admitted being curious about…!”

“Like you never got curious about the opposite anatomy you…!”

“... she’s right however; if we… do that, then there is far less risk to be recognized as ourselves and we could even eventually interact with our past selves, no?”

“Mental. You’re both mental… and I must be as well, because I’m really thinking about following your lead here!”

“So we agree? We… actually do it?”

“... we’re short on options anyway, aren’t we? We can’t kill Nagini so long she’s under so much protections and don’t leave her Master’s side, You-Know-Who is remaining elusive and when he isn’t, he’s so heavily guarded we’ll have no chance to come near. Most of our allies are dead already or in hiding and won’t be able to help us. Everyone is too afraid to act. It… falls onto us to do something. Anything. And we could shape the wizarding world to be a better place.”

“... it won’t be easy, you know. How do you even plan to…?”

“... Wake up Snape.”  
________________________________________

Lily’s eyes were hovering over him. That was the first thing Severus Snape noticed as he regained consciousness. The second was that he had been freed of his bonds -- even if Weasley was still pointing his wand at him. Smart of him.

Potter shuffled and Severus focused his attention back on him. “Sorry for the abrupt wake up, Professor, but… We need your skills. ”

Severus’ eyebrows shot up. Now, that was new. He very much doubted they were asking him about his Potion skills or about his Defense and Dark Arts abilities. Which left… everything that made him a good spy. That wasn’t good.

What had those children decided to get into? “I’m listening, Potter. Make it worth my time.”

Potter hesitated briefly. “Well… Let’s say we’d be trying to set up a fake identity that could hold against intense screening, including yours or Dumbledore, what would you recommend?”

“Potter… are you honestly asking me to teach you how to be a spy?”

“No, not a spy… Sir. But unless I’m mistaken, you’re the foremost expert of the wizarding world on how to fool people -- and I don’t think it’s only due to your talent for Occlumency. So, Professor, can you teach us? Or at least give us pointers?”

Snape hesitated. His eyes wandered from Potter to Granger and Weasley, but he couldn’t catch the eyes of any of them. Well, at least they were smart enough not to cross eyes with a Legilimens. But one couldn’t avoid doing so forever and Potter was disastrous at Occlumency. If he didn’t do anything, the little idiot would probably end up getting killed.

And he wasn’t about to fail Lily’s son, no matter what Dumbledore might have had planned.

“Sit down, Potter,” he said gruffly, intertwining his fingers. “I’m afraid this is going to be a long conversation.”  
________________________________________

_”Unless you want to be discovered early on, Potter, you need to establish a solid background. But one can’t do it out of thin air, or people will get suspicious. That’s what lost Dirk Cresswell; while his attempts at forging a decent family tree were good, a simple check in the Ministry’s records showed that several members of his tree were entirely fictive._

_You need to think on several generations; just inventing parents or siblings isn’t nearly enough._

“Well, that won’t be simple.”

“I dunno Harry. There are plenty of people in the wizarding world and some are real oddballs -- literal hermits, you see; they only come out when they have a child old enough to attend Hogwarts. That was kinda the case with the Lovegoods; unless Xenophilius needed to go out for groceries, we didn’t see much of him. And there are lots of witches and wizards who left the wizarding world when they married Muggles. I, uh… not, that wouldn’t work, the Ministry would know if they had children…”

“Not necessarily. When I had my hearing in from of the Wizengamot, they didn’t have an official record on Mrs Figg because she was a Squib. If the Ministry don’t keep tracks of Squibs, who else to they fail to keep an eye on?”

“Many people, I fear. It is mentioned in ‘Hogwarts: A History’ that the school tracks the birth of magical children in Great Britain thank to the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance, items created by the Founders. They record the names and birthdates of any child magical enough to get in Hogwarts. Once per year, the deputy Headmaster or Headmistress will come to check the Book in order to know to whom they have to send letters. But since it tracks only magical births, it totally leaves out Squibs. Hogwarts usually sends a list of the new students who confirmed they’d come to the school on September 1st to the Ministry so they can build statistics -- of course, Hogwarts staff leaves out the students so-called ‘Blood Status’, since it has no impact on their ability to learn magic.”

“Fascinating. But I don’t see how it helps us.”

“Oh, Ronald, obviously it helps us because the Ministry don’t have an equivalent way to track Muggleborn births and even less so, to track Squib births. Why do you think they created that awful Registration Commission in the first place? And since they’re only given the names and birthdates of students who accepted to go to Hogwarts…”

“Then they wouldn’t have the names and birthdates of students who preferred to be homeschooled! … or would they? And what about students who are sent to foreign schools?”

“Oh, according to Padma, parents have to fill paperwork with the Ministry if they want their children to go study abroad; she has a cousin who went to study in India. But when it comes to homeschooling, the Ministry wouldn’t know unless the homeschooled students wrote to them about arranging a date to try and pass their OWLs or their NEWTs, which can happen anytime, even when after the students have become adults. They’re not keeping a very good record on the education of young wizards and witches, because they consider it’s Hogwarts staff responsibility.”

“Are you seriously telling me that they don’t even, I don’t know, have recorded, official tutors they send to homeschooled kids?”

“As far as I know, they don’t -- keep track of tutors, I mean. Anyone can become a tutor, they just need to set up an add in the Daily Prophet though it’s better if you’re registered with a known establishment like Kwikspell. It carries more weight and show you have a decent skill level. But on the whole, it is generally accepted that the parents will be the ones to oversee and help along their children in their studies and cover for any magical accident the children might have caused or be in.”

“... that’s stupid. What about Muggleborns?”

“Muggleborns who don’t go to Hogwarts aren’t allowed to have a wand, Harry. Not until they become adults in the wizarding world after which they’re legally entitled one.”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“I, uh, I don’t think she is, mate. I think I heard about it once, something Dad said about one of his coworkers…”

“That’s unfair!”

“Unfair? I hope so! Can you imagine trying to get a proper job in the wizarding word if you can’t practice casting spells before you’re seventeen? Not to mention the time it must take in order to be able to pass your OWLs or your NEWTs? Some wizards can’t do it before they are in their early twenties!”

“Trust Hermione to be so concerned with education.”

“Because you aren’t, perhaps?”

“Please, let’s not fight now, you two and get back on tracks. So, theoretically, we could pretend we’re homeschooled students and the Ministry wouldn’t know any better?”

“Normally, yes. But Dumbledore and Hogwarts staff would, unless we manage to fool both the Quill and the Book and I don’t see how; they’re powerful artifacts and they have never made a mistake before.”

“The same could be said of the Goblet of Fire, and look what happened to me! No, Hermione, I’m certain there has to be a way to fool them both. Perhaps a Confundus Charm aimed at the right time, with a strong suggestion of what name it ought to write…?”

“Perhaps. But even if we manage to fool the Quill and the Book -- or at least the Book, which would imply going to Hogwarts under disguise anyway -- we would still have to deal with the school messenger. Muggle families always get one to explain magic to them, unlike wizarding ones who can simply address the Headmaster a refusal by owl post.”

“Do they? Funny how it didn’t happen for me; the Dursleys got buried under letters they refused to let me read and Hagrid had to come and pick me up at the last moment.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose that since your Uncle and Aunt were familiar with magic, they didn’t think it was necessary to send a teacher?”

“Imagine, Harry; they could have sent Snape.”

“... now that would have been interesting to witness, actually. Especially since he knew my Aunt. But nevermind. We agreed we should try to do something about the Book and Quill?”

“Oh, sure. But I dunno, we’d first need to decide on identities, no? Since we’ll need a name and a birthdate to provide the book with?”

“Right, right. That’s where we need to start anyway. You remember Snape’s advice; you can’t just create someone right out of thin air, even with magic on our side and the Ministry being spotty when it comes to checks. Dumbledore and Snape will be much harder to fool anyway. The only way I could see us managing to pull it off would be to practice an identity theft…”

“A what now? Is that a Muggle thing?”

“Sort of? It’s very illegal and I’m certain wizards can practice it too. Basically, you make yourself pass for someone else by stealing their personal informations: their names, their birthdates, their credentials, their security number,...”

“Their what?”

“Nevermind about it, Ron. Hermione, you really think we could pull it off?”

“I don’t know, Harry. It’s… I wouldn’t know where to start, to be honest. However, it would be the easiest solution and the one that could provide us with the most solid background. Only, it could bring problems, especially to the ones we’d be borrowing the identities of.”

“Hum… but if we didn’t, Hermione?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, what if we used the identities of children who died in infancy? It wouldn’t exactly be stealing, would it? And it wouldn’t be getting any true, living person in trouble, would it?”

“That’s… morbid, mate.”

“Like Ron said. However, I admit the idea has potential. We wouldn’t necessarily need to create an elaborate background from scratch, it’d save time and at the same time, it’d give us tangible proofs of existence -- a birth certificate, at the very least. But we’d need to forge so many documents anyway! And then, documents asides, we’d need to have people vouch we exist: parents, school teachers if we’re going with a Muggle background, neighbors, possible childhood friends,... We’d need to fool the school messenger, to set up a credible reason to refuse going to Hogwarts,...”

“Hermione, I have a few words for you: ‘Time-Turners’, ‘Confundus Charm’, ‘False Memory Charm’, ‘Polyjuice’ and, most importantly ‘Resurrection Stone’.”

“Are you a witch or not, ‘Mione? Aww, your cheeks are all red!”

“No need to tease me, Ron Weasley! And don’t say anything, Harry!”

“I wasn’t going to. So, do you think it’s doable with those new additions?”

“It does make things much easier, I admit. Though we might need other things, like letters, pictures, school reports,... you know, all those little things that compose family archives. Snape told us about that as well, remember?”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

_In order to pass for someone else or to precise your identity, you need to link yourself back to existing people -- and to better pull it off, you’ll need to do so to people who are out of reach and can’t easily be investigated. They may be dead, they may have moved without leaving an address, they may refuse to acknowledge your existence due to some scandal,... but you need to have them._

_Once you have it down, you’ll need to procure yourself with and show off proofs you’re actually connected to those people, that you exist. A paper trail is important and anything can serve. Old receipts, pictures, children drawings,... All is in the little details._

*-*-*-*-*

“Oh right. I had almost forgotten.”

“I assume even wizards keep family records. Ron?”

“Uh, yeah. Mom always kept our Hogwarts acceptance letters alongside hers and Dad’s, and she was very close to frame Bill and Percy’s NEWT results and their Prefect insigns if they had let her do it. And there were their wedding pictures, the ones of us as children,... Mom also kept a picture of Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian with her as children on her nightstand for years.”

“See Harry? It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“But with the Time-Turners and careful planning we could do it, right? Five minutes in the past is more than enough to drop a letter we’d write now with a false date and let it age naturally. It’s also enough to go to a school and implant a seamless false memory in a teacher’s mind. Enough to Confound a whole street into thinking there is one more child living there, even if they seldom see them. And if we go back several times, say, about every few months in order to implant more memories and add more ‘archive’ papers...”

“... then we’ll have the perfect background we need in order to divert suspicions. That’s actually brilliant!”

“Sounds like you’re not the only one who can do plans anymore, Hermione.”

“Ron, what did I say about teasing? That said, we’ll need more than five minutes at times, so both Time-Turners will have to be used, and very carefully! We’ll need a precise list of the places and times we went, and what we did during that time.”

“I think you’ll be able to cover this part easily -- can’t be much harder than all the planning you did for your OWLs revision.”

“Harry, don’t start too! Ah, there is one more detail we haven’t considered; while going for, well, identity theft is our best bet, where to we even start to look for official identities to take?”

“I thought about it, actually, and I think it’d be simpler to start by looking into our own family trees.”

“Harry! That’s dangerous! We can’t make ourselves pass for members of our own families…!”

“Ron, Harry… Harry might be right. We… well, once we’ll have… changed… we might keep a resemblance to our past selves, though it’s hard to say how much. Genetic is tricky at best so, just in case, it might be for the best to keep a link, even distant, with the Harry, Hermione and Ron of the past. And besides, families are… well, you don’t always know all your relatives. People might be close as children, but when they grow up they end up drifting away for one reason or the other; moving, work, families of their owns,... Younger generations don’t always keep in contact with the older ones. Or sometimes there have been arguments between relatives you haven’t been made aware of but which resulted in a complete loss of contact with a whole branch of the family.”

“Ah, like the Blacks casting out family members who were decent or did ‘bad marriages’, you mean?”

“Yes, more or less. Does it talk to you?”

“Kinda. I mean, it kinda happened with my Dad; he has several cousins he wasn’t in contact with growing up. You see, my Grandmother was a Black.”

“A Black? Really? Who was she?”

“Cedrella Black, I think she was Sirius’ Great Aunt or something like that. She wouldn’t have been on the tapestry at Grimmauld Place, though; the Weasleys weren’t good enough for the Blacks and her marriage was considered disgraceful. Her family disowned her, even her sisters wouldn’t keep in contact with her. Uh, asides of her sister Callidora, with whom she was on Christmas card terms but that’s about it. Pureblood supremacists pretend Grandma Cedrella got disowned because the Weasleys are blood-traitors, but Dad always thought it was because Grandpa Septimus was at least twenty years older than her.”

“That’s… quite the age gap, Ron.”

“Yeah, I guess so? But it wasn’t Grandpa Septimus’ first wedding -- which probably didn’t help her family’s decision. He had married a Hobday girl when he was younger, and they had a son, my Uncle Bilius.”

“The one who was pulling flower bouquets out of his…?”

“Yeah, the very same. Dad liked him a lot, even if he was much older than him. It was him who insisted to give me Bilius as a second name. He was a fun guy according to family gossip, but he became increasingly weird when he grew older; I think the flowers was the last straw for my mother, he never was invited to the Burrow against after that though we went to visit him sometimes. Then he met a Grim and…”

“Ah… sorry?”

“It’s alright, I made peace with that; I was almost nine when he died. A large part of the Weasley clan came to his funerals… Though some of our Aunts and Great-Aunts absolutely refused. He didn’t have a good reputation with them thank to an old… rumor… Uh. Oh.”

“Ron?”

“It’s not something that was really discussed in the family, I only know because Aunt Muriel just wanted to find bad things to say about the family, but apparently there was a rumor about Uncle Bilius about his Hogwarts years. Apparently, he had been involved with another student when he was still in school. Very, very involved if you catch my meaning; kinda like Sally-anne Perks and whoever her mysterious boyfriend was.

“Sally-Anne Perks? Isn’t that the girl from Hufflepuff her parents took from school in the middle of Fifth year because she was…?”

“Yep, the very same.”

“I always found it scandalous the father didn’t step forward to support her! She shouldn’t have had to face Umbridge and her own parents alone in her situation!”

“Yeah, I guess so, but she’s also the one who didn’t want to say who the father was, if you recall.”

“And if Umbridge had been able to pin it on me, you know she would have! The way she looked at me after she announced Sally-Anne was pregnant -- in the middle of the class, which was totally uncalled for and humiliating for this poor girl! -- was clear enough. You just knew she wanted to expel the father.”

“Lucky for you that you had never spoken with Sally-Anne before, then, and that the idea was shot down immediately. But even if that toad had wanted, she wouldn’t have been able to; no student was ever expelled for having been sexually active on Hogwarts ground.”

“Something you read in ‘Hogwarts: A History’ again?”

“No, a simple conversation with Professor McGonagall when I went to her to complain about Umbridge’s attitude toward Sally-Anne. That, and a double check on the Blacks’ tapestry while we were in Grimmauld Place. You may not have noticed, but if the dates are exact, then Walburga Black was born when her father, Pollux Black, was only thirteen.”

“You’re kidding?”

“I wish. And it goes even further; Walburga’s brother, Cygnus Black III, the father of Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks? He was also thirteen when his first daughter, Bellatrix, was born! None of them had any problems though, or at least none that ended with a suspension from Hogwarts. If Umbridge had tried to, it would have reflected badly on her or accusations of favoritism toward purebloods could have been levelled at her. Honestly, given their relatively young age and the kind of daughters they had, It makes me wonder if there is a link between fatherhood at thirteen and having awful children for the Blacks…”

“Hermione? Back on track, please.”

“Oh, yes, sorry. What were we saying?”

“Perhaps it was a student who was seventeen already? Sally-Anne’s mysterious boyfriend, I mean. If so, it would have caused problems for them both, no?”

“That’s… quite possible. Anyway, my Uncle got tagged by a rumor like that when he was still at Hogwarts, along with several other guys who had been close to a witch in a, uh, delicate situation. There never was any proof, of course, but it was sufficient to make some of my older relatives rather cross with him. Funny, now that I think about it, I can’t remember them ever mentioning the witch’s name.”

“I’m not surprised; the wizarding world is more progressive than the Muggle world on many issues, but I fear they also have the habit of shifting the blame on only one person -- and usually, the woman.”

“As fascinating as this discussion is, I fear we’re sidetracking again. Ron, what was the point exactly?”

“Oh. I meant to say, I understand what you two meant by seeking potential identities to borrow in our own family trees. That said, the rumor about my Uncle Bilius asides, you’ll have a hard finding a Weasley member whose life isn’t perfectly recorded. We were always very much family-oriented. My Great-Uncle Anthelm has a passion for genealogy, he probably has collected everything on every member of the family.”

“On on your mother side? The Prewetts?”

“I… Uh. Actually, I may have more luck on that side. I mean, we never talked about Mom’s accountant second cousin, so who else have we never talked about? But, what about you two? Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”

“I’ve made a genealogy project back when I was in Muggle school; I have some ideas of where to start. Harry?”

“Mom’s family as well. Actually, I have already chosen.”

“Harry? Did you use the Resurrection Stone to…?”

“Yes. Yes I did. After I talked with Petunia Evans the elder, I called Richard Evans, her brother. It turns out, he was my Grandfather. Mom and Aunt Petunia’s father. And it turns out he had other siblings -- two girls a few years younger than him, as a matter of fact. To think I always believed the Dursleys were my only family...”

“They’re alive?!”

“One of them definitely is -- Hortense, the eldest of the two. She married and moved to Canada with her husband. Had two sons, from what my Grandfather told me, but I don’t know much more about them. They didn’t have much contacts thank to the distance and mostly exchanged letters. I suppose no one tried to check if I had family out of Britain…”

“And the other sister? Do you… know more about her?”

“Ah. Marigold. I… don’t know much about her either. She broke all contacts with her family when they let her know they didn’t approve of her upcoming wedding with an older man they didn’t approve of. And I can understand why; according to the ghosts I spoke with, he was a drunk who saw nothing wrong with hitting his pregnant wife.”

“Oh. Oh, Harry…”

“Even Uncle Vernon would have never had sunk so low; I understand why they didn’t want their sister to marry that man. But she was in love and she did anyway, and she apparently died following a miscarriage, which was only the last in a series of miscarriages, stillborns and one case of SIDS.”

“Uh…”

“Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, Ron. It’s the term Muggles use for the unexplained death of a baby who was otherwise perfectly healthy. It’s uncommon, but it happens. I can’t recall knowing of a single case myself. Harry… do you know when it happened and wherever the baby was a boy or a girl?”

“N… no? I never thought to ask for details, I just summoned them and tried to have a conversation…”

“You should try again, and go for every details you can. Actually, you should also use the stone to talk with Bilius Weasley, to see about that rumor. And perhaps I should also try and speak with my own ancestors through the Stone, to see if it can help me pinpoint good candidates to set our identities.”

“Alright… let’s start with that, I guess.”

“Not just with that, Harry. I read and reread the Potion’s steps and ingredients, and it’s very, very complicated, far more than Polyjuice -- which we will also need, incidentally. Polyjuice takes a good month to prepare on its own, and the other Potion…”

“Hadn’t thought about it. Bugger. It’s going to take forever, isn’t it?”

“Not forever, no. But since both Potions require similar steps and ingredients, I’d say we’re up to one to two months of preparation before we’re ready to progress to the, the next step. And that’s if I manage to get the proper ingredients. We… may need to ask Snape’s help to get the rarer ones.”

“Do we have to? I don’t want to reveal anything too precise to him. He might be on our side, but I’m not sure if we could trust him with our plan.”

“I don’t think we have much choice here; while I may be able to gather most of the ingredients by myself, Boomslang skin and Bicorn horn aren’t easy to come up with. If those are the only ingredients we ask from him, Snape might just deduces we’re brewing massive amounts of Polyjuice…”

“Which we will be doing anyway, so it’s not like it’s a lie. Just… not the whole truth. Alright. Let’s ask him, then -- but I maintain I don’t like it. As for the rest and the brewing itself… You’re sure you can pull it off, Hermione?”

“Harry, she made Polyjuice when we were, what, twelve? If anyone can do a perfect sex-changing Potion, I think it’s our Hermione. And I maintain it still feels weird to say it aloud.”

“It might be, but unless you can suggest a better plan…”

“Boys, no arguing. We have work to do, and the earlier we’ll start, the earlier we’ll be done… and can try to save the world. And the Potion is only the tip of the iceberg…”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Snape wasn’t exactly hard to fool, although they all had to avoid looking at him in the eyes whenever they spoke or met with him. If he was suspicious however (and honestly, Harry would have been surprised if the Potions Master hadn’t been), the older wizard had the good taste of not letting them know. Not even when Hermione casually asked for any and all newspapers Snape could get his hands to and give them.

It probably wasn’t the trio’s smartest move, but Hermione was adamant they needed more information on the 70s and 80s before they tried for anything. It wouldn’t do for them to go around and refer to potions or spells which had only been created or finalized in the 90s, for example -- and though Hermione hadn’t mentioned it to the boys, she was also hoping to find ads about houses for sell or for rent. They couldn’t live under a tent forever, after all, especially if they wanted to become and pass for upstanding members of society.

They at least hoped to have kept their plans vague enough by asking Snape’s articles about specific times and events such as the reports of various legislation progresses made in spells casting, healing and the like as well as any article having to do with Death Eaters and their families.

It was, however, much harder to try and keep everything secret from Padma.

The Indian witch hadn’t said anything, but Hermione suspected the (former?) Ravenclaw had already pierced everything together. How could she not, when she had at least caught a glimpse of the Time-Turners when she had come to deliver them the news about Ron’s Uncle and cousins? While it was debatable if Padma had read the books in the underground library (which was more likely than, say, Parvati having read them), she couldn’t have missed the bubbling cauldrons lined up in a side cave and Hermione knew Padma was smart enough to know what those Potions were.

Clownfishes scales and genitals weren’t a common ingredient, after all, and neither were chicken ovotestis, flowers’ stamens and mushroom corals.

But Padma never said anything. She looked, she listened, she slept and she went her way without ever addressing the issue.

That’s it, until she brought in a cardbox full of extra potions ingredients as Hermione was stirring the first of her cauldrons.

“Honeywater, cinnamon, syrup of valerian, Lady’s Mantle essence, peppermint, crushed moonstone, ginger roots, rose petals, pearl dust and pomegranate seeds,” Padma listed off calmly as she carefully put down the box full of crystal vials.

Hermione blinked, mentally went over the list the other witch had given her and frowned. “Pomegranate seeds and peppermint aren’t part of Pavu…” she stopped herself, horrified to have betrayed the secret but Padma just shrugged.

“Of Pavuluri’s Potion? No they aren’t. However, you’ll need peppermint if you want to finish that Love Potion at the far left, and I always found pomegranate seeds to be useful myself.” She had a mirthless chuckle at the look on Hermione’s face. “Was it supposed to be a secret, Granger? By the way, why are you making a Love Potion and, by the look of it and the smell, a Calming Draught?”

“N...no, it wasn’t a secret exactly, just something we were trying not to advertise,” the bushy-haired witch sighed, gave the cauldron the last two counterclock stirs it needed and took the ladle out. “The Draught and the Love Potion… well, it’s an idea I had. Pavuluri’s Potion is usually used by people who want to make a definite transition, who are ready for it. Even if we finally decided it was for the best, we’re still a bit… scared about it and I’m concerned about the emotional backlash. I was hoping that mixing the Potion with a few drops of Draught and a few drops of a weak Love Potion would help us avoid some of the mental issues.”

Padma leaned forward, looking interested and Hermione had to remind herself Padma had been in Professor Slughorn’s NEWT class, which meant she was a very competent brewer herself. “It’s an interesting theory, but aren’t you afraid there could be a backlash or unexpected consequences? Some ingredients don’t react well with each other.”

“Which is the reason I went with Fluttery Passion in the first place,” Hermione nodded gravely. “It’s one of the weakest and also one of the blander one and most of its components can also be found in Pavuluri’s Potion, so the risk of a counter-reaction are minimal.”

“Honeywater, Morning Dew, Cinnamon, Ginger Roots, Rose Petals, frozen Ashwinder Eggs and Pearl Dust,” Padma listed out of memory, nodding. “That might do the trick, though I’d recommend watering down either way. And while it shouldn’t mess up with the ingestion of other potions, I wonder if you wouldn’t be better off with something more steady. Fluttery Passion is know to have no discernable effects at first glance until the drinker explodes in a flurry of passionate feelings; it’s not the most reliable for the kind of, ah, ‘change’ you wish to undergo.”

“I know, I know. But unless you have a better one to propose?”

Padma thought for a few moments but finally had to shake her head; there were none that came to mind, despite her expensive knowledge of such Potions (and if anyone asked, it was because Parvati had been interested but wasn’t a competent brewer enough to make one herself; that was Padma’s story and she wouldn’t be convinced to say otherwise.)

Hermione watched her in silence for a long moment until it started to feel uncomfortable. “So, you know what we’re going to do I take?”

“Please, Granger… Hermione,” Padma corrected herself with softer eyes. “I’m not a Ravenclaw for nothing and you weren’t as discreet and secretive as you hoped to be. Besides, this is Patil Mansion,” she waved her hand around. “While the Death Eaters have torn apart the wards and destroyed the upper levels, the caves still have their own protections and their own secrets. Asides of the Anti-Apparition ward still in place on the basement upper level and extending to the caves, there are a number of spells woven in that allow little that happen here to escape the Master of the house.”

Unsaid was the fact that, with the death of her parents and her twin sister, Padma Patil was the de facto Master or rather, Mistress of the house. Hermione felt both chastised and curious, a part of her eager to ask more about the type of wards spread over their current hideout. However, she was unsure if Padma would welcome such a conversation.

“This is a very big commitment you’re intending to make,” Padma mentioned calmly as she sat down over an old barrel, crossing her legs. “Pavuluri’s Potion is one of the most potent sex-changing potion that exists in the world, only second to the Chinese ‘Rong Elixir’. Are you sure about what you’re doing? Are Harry and Ron?”

Hermione bite her lip and lowered her face. “Honestly? I don’t think any of us is sure of anything at this point. Only that we need to do something, and that it’s our better option. We can’t spend our time under Polyjuice after all; it’s too unreliable for long term use. Besides, people are bound to notice something if you keep drinking from a flask. The only reason someone managed to impersonate Moody was because it was a previously set habit due to his paranoia. And that’s not really the kind of reputation we would wish. And the chance someone notices we look too much like a younger Ron, Hermione and Harry…”

“No need to explain more,” Padma raised a hand. “I understand the need for a good disguise. It still remains a radical one and I hope you won’t come to regret it. Those kinds of potions were intended to be used by people who feel a sincere need to change gender. It’s not a disguise you’ll be able to get rid off the moment you start feeling it inconvenient.”

Hermione’s cheeks took a pink hue. “You think I don’t know that?! I know the risks! Sure, a simple Sex-Changing Charm might do the trick as well, but only licenced Healers and Mediwizards are taught how to cast them, and they’re liable to fail at any time!

“Not quite true,” Padma countered. “Sex-Changing Spells are known to be used in, shall we say, ‘recreational activities’ and there are books about the subject. You just won’t find them on Diagon Alley. If you head down Knockturn Alley, however…”

“I know; I looked them up, summer before my Sixth year,” Hermione murmured embarrassingly, making the Ravenclaw raise her unscarred eyebrow at her. “I was curious, alright?! But the Spells I saw wouldn’t last more than a couple hours at most. With a Potion, we at least wouldn’t have to fear changing appearance in the middle of the street! I’m perfectly willing to take that potion if it gives me a chance to change history and make sure the massacre at Hogwarts never takes place! Or if it means the Dementors will never be unleashed on Muggles and Muggleborns alike!”

“And the fact it will give you a penis has nothing to do with it?” Padma commented lazily, shaking her head to the locks she had started to use to cover her dead, scarred eye rolled just right. Hermione froze. “Oh, don’t make that face, Granger. You’d be surprised by the number of girls who are ‘curious’ about walking a mile in the other gender’s shoes. Some even ends up deciding they want more than a mile.”

“That doesn’t mean I…”

“Parvati was my sister, Hermione,” the Ravenclaw said softly, gently and Hermione froze again. “Just because we didn’t spent all our time together at Hogwarts didn’t mean we didn’t talk regularly. And we talked about many things, including classes, friends, roommates… and their little secrets.” She gave Hermione a sympathetic look. “It isn’t the Muggle world, Hermione; nobody is going to just dismiss your intellect and your achievements just because you’re a woman, you know?”

Hermione sighed deeply and leaned back. Suddenly, she looked smaller and frailer, a far cry from the confident witch her two best friends usually saw. “I know. I have known for a long time, at least intellectually. But you don’t erase years of being subtly or not so subtly told by society that men are just ‘better’ than women with a wave of your wand. Unless you’re using a Memory Charm, of course,” she added with a self-depreciating laugh, trying to joke. Padma just stared. “I just don’t know why I shared it with Parvati back then. I mean, we weren’t especially close, but I guess I could relate better to her than to Lavender and with Fay spending all her time out with Alice and Kellah…”

She shook her head. “Showing how smart I was never seemed to be enough in the Muggle world. Oh, my parents were on my side and praised me at every turn, and most of my teachers as well… but not all.” She hugged herself, remembering all too well one particular teacher; Snape had hardly been the first person to dismiss her though in his case, it was tied more to being a Gryffindor and one of Harry’s friends than to being a girl. “At first, I thought it’d be the same in the Wizarding world and perhaps I tried to overcompensate a little. By the time I understood witches really were the equals of wizards and I started to feel better, however, I was dealing with the ‘Mudblood’ epitet. I just exchanged a prejudice against another. I stopped worrying about gender equality, it really wasn’t much in the face of, well, everything Harry got sucked and us along them. But I guess deep down, there’s something left.”

Padma looked at her silently for a moment before nodding slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione offered her a pale smile. “But that doesn’t mean I truly want to be a, a man, you know. Or that I would have seriously considered it if circumstances weren’t so… I like being a girl!”

“Hmm, that you do,” the Ravenclaw inclined her head. “Or at least you think you do. But if you want my honest impression, I have this nagging feeling you don’t really care for your gender so long Potter and Weasley continue to love you.”

“This is completely…!”

“True? Oh, Granger, get a grip! Anyone with eyes can see Ron Weasley is in love with you! What do you think happened last year with Lavender Brown? And don’t get me start about what you did with McLaggen!”

Hermione’s cheek reddened. “It wasn’t…”

“Sure it wasn’t,” Padma smirked. “Unavowed crush on Weasley asides, nobody will ever be able to make me believe there isn’t something between Potter and you.”

“Harry is in love with Ginny!”

“Is he really?” Padma asked doctorally. “Or is it like his crush on Cho Chang? Oh, don’t look at me like that, half of the girls in Ravenclaw above Third year knew about it; you wouldn’t believe of much giggling fits we had, wondering if he was going to be asking her out. Then Cho got in couple with Cedric Diggory and…” she paused, shook her head and sighed wistfully. “Suddenly, it wasn’t nearly as funny anymore. Anyway, your answer was interesting because if you were quick to point out Potter has a crush on Ginny Weasley, you haven’t contested the fact there is something between you and him!”

“There isn’t, Patil! Honestly!”

“Oh, I’m not thinking of something physical. It’s clear you have never entertained the idea or at least, not until recently -- let’s say, in the last five or six months. But on an intimate, emotional level, you two are very close. It could be brotherly-sisterly, but for some reason I don’t think so.” She looked at Hermione with a strange smile that made the bushy-haired witch feel self-conscious.

“Weasley is the passion, the physical attraction, the one you’d like to snog as if there was no tomorrow, the one who will argue with you fiercely over small matters or different points of view. Potter is the emotional crutch, the quiet moral and emotional support, the one with whom you’d happily snuggle in front of the fireplace with a book while he hugs you, who will listen to you unless he’s feeling particularly stubborn. Two kinds of love, but love all the same,” she concluded with a nod. “Will you deny it as well?”

Hermione didn’t answer. She looked away and walked stiffly to the line of cauldron, leaning over them as if she was checking if everything was cooking as planned -- which was the case. She just didn’t trust herself to speak at this moment. Padma… was treading dangerously close to home, unfortunately for Hermione’s peace of mind. It wasn’t as if she had ever planned to let either of them know, and it wasn’t as if she had ever planned to somehow fall in love with two boys at the same time! She still didn’t understand it fully. Perhaps things would have never headed in this direction if Harry and her hadn’t spent so much time alone… but it did anyway and now she was agonizing over what to do.

The wisest course of action would be to never say anything… but she wasn’t sure she’d manage to hold up forever. She had managed to keep the Time-Turner back in Third year a secret for almost a whole year, but she had been so close to a burn-out that revealing the truth to Harry had come as a delivrance.

However, her heart’s conflicting feelings would have to wait. She couldn’t in good conscience confess herself to Ron and Harry -- if there was even a good way to do that! -- when they were all on the run and trying to take down You-Know-Who. Not when they were about to take a big jump into the past… and completely alter their lives, forever.

“They’re in love with you as well, you know.”

Hermione startled badly when she heard Padma speak and almost put her hand on the burning cauldron she was inspecting in doing so. “What?!”

“You should check out your ears, Granger. I said, ‘they’re in love with you as well’. Both of you. Weasley is so obvious it’s almost painful, and Potter… well, Potter is denser than a brick wall, but you know he cares more than he lets on whenever you take the time to look at the way he’s watching you,” she sighed with exasperated fondness before she gave Hermione a look. “You love them, they both love you, the remaining question is… would they be willing to share?”

Hermione stared. “You aren’t seriously suggesting…?”

Padma just gave her a mysterious smile but didn’t answer. Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, not knowing what to say. It just boggled her mind.

Then Ron and Harry came back from their trip outside, and she had to refrain herself from asking again. She had to fight down her annoyance and uneasiness toward Padma; why had the surviving Patil twin had to talk to her about… about her feelings? And she was certain Padma had somehow timed it so they wouldn’t be able to finish the conversation! After all, it had been clear Ron and Harry would be back soon and that Hermione would be too embarrassed to talk with them over such a sensitive subject! She might be a Gryffindor, but that didn’t meant she could just… talk about it freely!

And she thought she was going to have an heart attack when the Indian witch casually greeted the two wizards before focusing on Ron. “Ah, Weasley, just the person I wanted to see.”

“Uh? What for?”

Oh, she wasn’t going to dare…!

“I found some old pictures I thought you’d find interesting. I found them upstairs while… searching for things in the debris. Almost cut myself with the glass when I removed them from their broken frame, but... Here.”

Hermione had to blink when Padma ended Ron two pictures -- wizard ones, assuredly, since the bushy-haired girl could make out a furtive movement on one of them -- that seemed to have seen better days, their edges torn up. They were old too; what little Hermione could see was in white and black.

“Pictures? Why would I…? Oh, eh, I know that guy!” Ron exclaimed as he looked between the two pictures, Harry leaning over his shoulder.

“I would hope so,” Padma said dryly.

“What is it, Ron?” Hermione asked reluctantly as she came over and glanced at the pictures. The second one was masked by the first, but the one on top showed many people under a tent not unlike the one that had been set for the wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour. Dozens of witches and wizards were waving cheerily or clapping. Their robes and dresses were formal and old-fashioned by Hermione’s standards. Then again, given the age of the picture, it had to have been taken sometimes in the 1920s; there were one or two Muggle-styled dresses who just screamed the time-period at her.

“Pictures of my Grand-Uncle Agravain Weasley’s wedding, I remember seeing one on Grandpa Septimus’ chimney mantle. Here he is,” he pointed to a wizard somewhere on the third rank of people, near the shape of a dais. The shape of his face reminded Hermione of Charlie Weasley. Actually, there were a couple of faces that seemed strangely familiar. Ron grinned. “That’s Grandpa Septimus alright, though he doesn’t have his glasses on. And next to him, that must be his brothers Anthelm and Elyan -- they were twins like Fred and George, but fraternal -- and that must be Great-Uncle Leonidas who’s making faces at them behind their back, Grandpa and Dad always said he was a big prankster when he was young but it’s hard to say nowaday, since he pretty much never leaves his house anymore. I don’t even think he came to Bill’s wedding.”

Hermione just looked at Ron, feeling vaguely perturbed. “Just how many siblings did you Grandfather had exactly?”

Ron shrugged. “Oh, he was the seventh son of his generation -- kinda why he got named Septimus. That, and the fact he was born on July 7th at 7am; my Great Grandparents thought it was appropriate.”

“I hadn’t realized the Weasleys were so much in the habit of having big families,” Harry said jokingly to which Ron answered by a playful punch.

“Naw, that’s just a coincidence. But it’s true we’re quite the large bunch when you count all the cousins. It used to be a joke that there were enough of us to populate a whole dorm at Hogwarts. Mom once told us that from Great-Grandma Jasmine -- Jasmine Weasley, the wife of Great-Grandpa Joseph -- own admission, it takes a special kind of witch to support so many Weasleys. She liked Mom a lot, from what I heard. You know, it’s kinda lucky most of Grandpa’s brothers never married, or that joke about the dorm would have rung true.” He shook his head and looked at the Indian witch. “Where did you get that Padma? I didn’t know anyone but our family had kept any pictures of that day.”

“From upstairs, as I said,” the Ravenclaw said plainly. “They were in what remained of my Grandaunt Madhari’s room. She was at the wedding as well with her sister Mati -- you can see them near the musicians if you look closely. They were bridesmaids, actually, the bride’s best friends in Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” Ron muttered in a small voice as he shifted to put the second pictures on top. “I had never seen that one, the bridesmaids weren’t included on Grandpa Septimus’ copy.

Ron and Hermione leaned forward and blinked uncertainly. “Ron,” Harry asked slowly, “why does there seem to be two grooms surrounding the bride?”

And there was, Hermione thought stunned. The second picture was a close-up of the dais the trio had seen in the first one. Two Indian witches -- Padma’s Great Aunts Madhari and Mati, apparently -- in dresses similar to the ones the Patil sisters had worn at the Yule Ball were standing on the left, next to a pale-looking witch with a long nose, one of each step leading to the dais. On the right, three wizards, one of whom closely resembled Mr Weasley, were opposing them and grinning widely. And then, on the dais itself were the newly weds.

The three newly weds, according to the hands they were all proudly exhibiting toward the camera. 

The bride was in the center, a small woman with a pointy chin dressed in a white dress that fell to her ankles and a wide-edged hat decorated with flowers and flying doves who were tugging pale-colored ribbons in their beaks. To her left stood Ron’s Great-Uncle in dark colored robes and a large bowtie that vaguely made him look like a clown, an effect that was completed by his balding head and the impressive sideburns running along his cheeks.

To her right, also brandishing a wedding ring, a dark-haired wizard in pale robes was flashing quick grins at the bride and Agravain Weasley. He was clean-shaved, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail and he had small glasses perched on the brink of his nose.

Even if they had wanted to dismiss the second wizard and his matching ring, Hermione and Harry couldn’t have missed the way both wizards had passed an arm around the bride’s waist.

“Oh, that? That’s Great-Uncle Agravain’s husband,” Ron shrugged. “Eugene Arbuckle. A nice chap from what I heard. Haven’t personally met him because his health has become frail so they don’t visit anymore.”

“His _husband_?” Hermione hadn’t shrieked. Not really. Or not that much. She was just surprised, that was all. “But I thought… the bride…?”

Ron just looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “He married both, Hermione. Eugene is his husband, and the bride -- Henrietta, but everyone used to call her Hattie if I remember right -- is his wife as well. They met in Hogwarts, they fell in love and they decided they prefered to live together. It happens sometimes. I thought Muggles did that too?”

“Not in Britain, I don’t think so,” Harry commented, blinking as he eyes the picture carefully. “At least, not the legal way. Uncle Vernon used to say nasty things about immigrants with several spouses. That’s… so wizards do polygamy?” His cheeks had a faint pink twinge and Hermione was certain her owns had to share the same color, if not a darker shade.

“I… guess so? It’s not exactly common, mind you, because it’s not exactly considered proper by some pureblood families but I think the Ministry records at least three or four polygamous marriage per year,” Ron shrugged. “Usually it’s often two siblings who fell in love with the same person or, uh,” he fumbled, “Sometimes purebloods heirs are swinging the other way for a good chum, so they usually marry the chum and a proper witch or wizard with whom to provide an heir for the family name. That kinda what happened with Uncle Agravain, or at least that’s what my Uncle said once when he was very drunk; the Arbuckles were an old wizard family and Eugene was the last male heir so he was pressured into marrying. He agreed, but only if he could have both the witch and wizard of his choice.”

“If that’s legal, how come I saw nothing of the sort on the Blacks’ tapestry?”

“I told you, some pureblood families are against the practice. Plus, you really have to love each other and want it if you want that kind of marriage to work, I guess. That’s why it’s uncommon. Oh, and there always are hiccups with inheritance rights,” he added as an afterthought. “Sometimes when it’s one witch and two wizards, there have been confusions about the parentage of the children and it caused trouble about who should inherit. Uncle Agravain never had the problem thought; while Auntie Hattie had at least four children, only one went by the name Weasley. He was the only readhead.”

“Funny how they never seem to cover that kind of arrangement at Hogwarts,” Harry all but squeaked, making Ron shuffle.

“Well, yeah, but as I said, it’s uncommon.”

Hermione didn’t said anything. She stared wordlessly at a smirking Padma for a long while before she ducked her head and looked down, cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it took all her willpower not to stare at both Ron and Harry.

If that was Padma Patil’s idea of a subtle hint, then she‘d hate to see what the other witch considered to be a blunt statement.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Identity theft turned out to be far tidier than any of the trio had expected -- mostly because, while they could track down previously unknown relatives through a little genealogy researches and using the Resurrection Stone to carefully interview ghosts and build their family trees on several generations, there were almost none who filled the requirements they needed.

Well, asides of Marigold Evans’ deceased infant who had been born and died at an unspecified date in 1964. A stillborn girl, which was perfect for, well, part of the plan.

“1964 means a couple years younger than your parents, which is perfect for us, as it’s close to our real age,” Hermione reasoned. “We wouldn’t have to fool around with Aging and Youth Potions -- well, not more than we have to in order to leave a proper paper trail -- and it might even help us in the long term. Besides…” And she hesitates so much it’s almost painful to witness, but not nearly as much as her next words. “There has to be a reason an unknown or little known cousin of Lily Potter for not being able to take in her son.”

Because Harry Potter had to be sent to the Dursleys, there is no other way around it. They talked -- well, shouted -- a lot about it, because none of them want Sirius to end up with Azkaban and as sad as Harry still is about the Dursleys’ demise, he wouldn’t want to grow up with them a second time around if he can avoid it. But the problem was, they had no way to track Peter Pettigrew’s whereabouts.

Conversations brought up the fact Ron couldn’t remember when Percy got Scabbers as a pet, but it certainly wasn’t in 1981 -- Molly Weasley might have allowed her cherished son to have a pet rat, but she certainly wouldn’t have allowed him to while there was a toddler and an infant in the house. Even magical rats could bite if they were startled or were grabbed wrong, and despite how clean magic kept them, you could never be one hundred percents certain they were parasites free.

Where Wormtail had been in the meanwhile was a mystery, but if he didn’t find the relative safety of The Burrow to take refuge in after his first few months of hiding, then the chances were high he would try and find out Voldemort ahead of schedule.

“But that doesn’t mean we have to wait until the events of our Third year unfold to get him out!” Hermione argued fiercely.

“I would certainly hope not!”

“It’s all temporary, Harry,” Hermione cajoled, and Ron was nodding reluctantly alone.

“Can’t say I want him in my house as well, mate,” the redhead muttered, “but between that or allow him to wander free across the country and get You-Know-Who back a scant months after you managed to destroy him, well…” he shrugged helplessly.

“We just need to move and time it right,” Hermione murmured, a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We’ll… we’ll find a way to befriend the Weasleys, stage an ‘accident’ that will make them suspicious Wormtail isn’t a real rat, and make sure Sirius is freed. And then he can get custody of, of the younger you.”

“It leaves a lot to chance,” Harry sighed. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Hermione admitted in a small voice. “But we can’t right all the wrongs that happened in the last twenty years, Harry. It’s just… impossible.”

She was right, of course, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow. To make the world a better place might be possible, but it was clearly impossible to make it perfect. Not with only the three of them and some events they just couldn’t modify without possibly erasing themselves from the timeline while making it worse. At least Harry took solace in the idea his godfather wouldn’t have to suffer nearly as long as he once did in Azkaban if they played their cards right.

And playing them right was going to prove itself hard enough as it was, because they couldn’t allow themselves the slightest mistake.

Which was why they weren’t going to stay in Great Britain once they made their ‘Big Jump’, as they had started to refer to the last act of their crazy plan.

“It’d make sense, really,” Hermione kept insisting. “If we’re not there, we can avoid most of the fallout from You-Know-Who’s fall. And it’d be a perfect cover as to why nobody would have seen us before -- asides of being home schooled, of course. Plus, think about everything we could learn if we travelled. There had to be magic out of there we could use to destroy Horcruxes more easily.”

Harry had to admit the idea of travelling and go see the world held a certain appeal, and not just because of the exotic magic that seemed to make Hermione froth at the mouth with envy. The Dursleys had never taken him anywhere and even in the Wizarding world, he had been limited to Diagon Alley, The Burrow, Hogwarts and Hogsmeade (the Quidditch World Cup didn’t count, not really, and the Ministry even less. Knockturn Alley shouldn’t even be mentioned). There had to be more to see. Hogwarts was supposed to be the most haunted place in Britain, but what was the second most haunted, or the third? Was there a wizarding library in Wizarding Britain asides of the one in the castle?

As a child, he remembered watching the maps in primary school as the teacher taught them about Britain. He remembered how much he had loved filling the blank maps, silently mouthing the names of towns and rivers, wondering what the sea would be like, mind dazzled by how much people actually lived on Earth. He had always dreamed of leaving Little Whinging and Surrey behind to go explore the world. Not that he had ever talked about it with anyone, especially not aloud; the Dursleys would have tried to stamp it out, and the wizards…

Traveling the world sounded good… and it would probably help him not to do something rash. Because if he was in Britain anywhere near October 31st, 1981… For the ‘Greater Good’ or not, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from intervening.

Ron too seemed to enjoy the idea. “It used to be traditional once in wizarding families, kinda like the watches we still give,” he explained. “Young wizards who had just finished Hogwarts often went traveling for a year or so before they came back and took a job. It has fallen out of practice nowadays, but Bill got to do one for about six months when he finished Hogwarts and we always dreamed… I mean, my parents would really have liked to pay one for everyone,” Ron muttered, reddening and didn’t finish his sentence. It was clear they had never managed to save enough for the rest of their children to follow in Bill’s footsteps.

“Well… at least you got to see Egypt,” Hermione pointed out diplomatically. “You’re so lucky; I always wanted to go there but my parents never went further than Europe.”

It was the right thing to say, because Ron’s cheeks lost their red tinge and he started to smile, then to give them details over their stay in Egypt. Harry listened with attention, mentally wondering if 80s wizarding Egypt would be the same as the modern one.

Traveling was definitely going to be part of the plan -- especially since it could give them a good cover to start Hermione’s pet project for the 80s, as the bushy-haired witch pointed out with a smug smile.

In a way, having Hermione obsessing about every little details was as welcome and relieving as it was scary. And, come to think, so was Padma. The Indian witch kept going in and out of their refuge (and scarce issues of the Daily Prophet kept mentioning mysterious deaths that seemed to make her smug) but whenever she came in, she kept bringing items that none of them would have thought about or making sharp comments that stopped them all in their tracks.

“I brought you future ladies an assortment of Charmed underclothes from ‘Lacey’s’; they’re really popular with growing teenage witches, right Hermione? Since you don’t know what size you’re going to be when you take the potion,” Padma had commented with a raised eyebrow, ignoring the way Ron and Harry had frozen like statues. “Hogwarts students can ‘grow’ a lot in a year. We start the year with a bra and find it too small long before the end of the school year, unless you took precautions. You wouldn’t believe how many Muggleborns run into that kind of trouble before the school started to include special letters for girl students.”

“Did you know there are ways to stop Legilimens to read your thoughts without being an Occlumens? Charmed glasses most notably -- but I would still suggest the lot of you brush up any mental shield you might have.”

And there was the latest to date: “Have you chosen names yet? Because you can’t continue being called by your own anymore, you know. And you’ll need the practice to call each other by your new identities anyway, so why not start now?”

“She’s right, you know,” Ron had sighed after Padma had left once more. “No point in delaying the inevitable and the earliest we get used to… well, that stuff, the easier it will be. Right?” He didn’t look entirely convinced with himself but then again, none of them were, not even harry, and he had been the one who had first kickstarted the plan.

“But we haven’t even found a proper identity yet!” Hermione objected, nervously wriggling her hands.

“Yes we did,” Ron pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “Harry got one, and I tracked down the whereabouts of my Uncle Bilius’ school flame, one Eudora Wilkins. She gave birth to a daughter in 1950, one Eliana Wilkins, no father mentioned.”

“But 1950 is far too late for our needs,” Hermione pointed out.

“True, but something funny happened when I tried to track down Eliana Wilkins. Hogwarts student, Gryffindor House, year 1961,” he recited by heart. “She was one of my mother’s roommates, and I… wrote to her for details? Don’t worry, I didn’t write directly, I used a pen name and a wild owl,” he said quickly at Hermione and Harry’s look; contacting the Weasleys was risky, something they all agree about, even if it pained them. “I made myself pass for another classmate asking for news about some ‘old comrades’ -- people often wrote to my Mum about things like that, you know? So it’s not even strange. I just needed to ask about a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuff students, mentioning I’d like to get back in contract and since Mum knew everyone…”

“That’s right, your mother likes gossip,” Harry smiled faintly.

“That she does,” Ron nodded. “It turns out Eliana Wilkins left Hogwarts at the end of her Third year and never came back to school. She was, uh, noticed to be in a ‘delicate situation’ after she fainted during her Defense exam. Her mother didn’t appreciate the news -- sent her daughter and Dumbledore an Howler, can you imagine? Eudora proclaimed no child or grandchild of hers would ever go to Hogwarts again, not with how depraved the school obviously was.” He snorted. “Anyway, she was withdrawn from school and Mum didn’t have further contact. All she could tell me was that Eliana had a baby girl before the end of 1964. That works with our chosen time frame, right?”

“I… suppose,” Hermione said slowly. “But if they are real persons, living now…”

“They aren’t,” Harry replied after him and Ron exchanged a look. “Eliana Wilkins died around 1967, and her daughter… well, she didn’t live much longer.”

Hermione looked at them both with a suspicious look that slowly changed to horrified. “Her Grandmother…?”

“No, no!” Harry was quick to reassure her. “Sickness. She caught the same thing her mother had and while she lived a little longer, she…” He didn’t finish, just shaking his head. Hermione made a mournful noise but didn’t say anything else either. For a moment, there was only silence until Ron cleared his throat.

“You know, asides of her mother and grandmother, nobody ever saw Eliana’s daughter. They didn’t put a birth announcement in the Prophet, and there wasn’t an obituary for hers either. She would have been around two or three, if she was born between September and December. Kids change a lot at that age. Given Eudora was a teenage mother herself and after the public outburst she had about her daughter, nobody would be surprised she wouldn’t send her granddaughter to Hogwarts. Plus, Eudora Wilkins had gained quite the reputation in her old age; a veritable hermit, she never received anyone home, never visited any relatives she might still have, only ordered products from owl post,... Don’t take it wrong, but if we had to… if **I** had to take someone’s place, then taking her granddaughter’s would be easy. A few spells to modify existing pictures, a few others to modify Eudora’s memories and…” he shrugged.

“That’s so…” Hermione muttered, grimacing.

“You’re the one who suggested identity theft in the first place, Hermione,” Harry replied quietly. “You must have known it was going to be… distressing.”

“Yes, well, I thought I could handle it,” the bushy-haired girl sighed. “But now we’re actually doing it, it makes me feel sick. Besides, are you sure it won’t be too risky to give yourself a wizarding background Ron?”

“I’d never be able to pass for full Muggle,” the redhead pointed out and Hermione nodded reluctantly; there was too much for Ron to learn for him to pass off seamlessly for Muggleborn. “And Eudora and Eliana are related to the Prewetts -- they’re kinda the scandalous branch of the family. Aunt Muriel talked about them when I was younger, though I hadn’t known they were related. Enid Prewett had made a good marriage with a Blishwick, but her daughter Evadne married a Squib, one of the Turkells descendants, and their children turned out to be Squibs as well, so the family pretty much cut all contacts with them,” Ron explained painstakingly. “I’d really need to show you the family tree because it doesn’t make sense otherwise. Anyway, Eudora Wilkins’ Great-Grandmother was Enid Prewett, the sister of Mom’s Great-Grandfather, and her daughter and granddaughter were noted as being very much Prewetts in looks themselves. It could well explain any resemblance to… to Mum,” he mumbled uneasily, shifting.

“And if you resemble the Weasleys more, than you can play the whole ‘Bilius Weasley was the father/grandfather’ angle,” Hermione murmured, light dawning in her eyes. “But Eudora could easily dispel the notion, no? Or your Uncle himself.”

Ron sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Eudora died in 1982; if we don’t see my family before that, then there is little risk from her part. As for my Uncle… I dunno. I liked Uncle Bilius, he was a fun guy, but if he ever messed up, he wasn’t the kind of bloke who would have admitted it, even with the guilty party looking at him in the eyes. Dad always forgave him and Uncle Eduardus tended to be indulgent, but Grandpa or Uncle Constantine, never so much. It’s a risk, I know, but that’s the most solid background I can hope for.”

What could either Hermione or Harry reply to that? It was certainly bold, but it could be played off. Hopefully.

“What was her name? The little girl?”

Ron’s cheeks flushed. “Uh, it was supposed to be Miranda but personally, I don’t like that name thoo much. The kid didn’t seem to like it too much either -- and neither did her mother. Eudora choose it herself and Eliana didn’t dare protest. That’s what the shade said, anyway.”

Hermione nibbled her lips. “Well, if there wasn’t a birth announcement and wizards don’t have birth certificates -- and they don’t, do they? -- then perhaps you can pick another you like better? But you’ll have to put Miranda as a second name, just in case” she amended.

“Great,” Ron mumbled. “Though I suppose Miranda is way better than, say, ‘Muriel’.” That drew a laugh out of his friends, making him smile faintly and rending the atmosphere much lighter.

“What about you, Hermione?” Harry called out. “Did you find an identity you could take?”

“Not really,” the bushy-haired girl sighed. “On my father’s side, there weren’t many promising leads -- though I discovered I was indeed distantly related to Hector Dagworth-Granger through him; Professor Slughorn would have been elated,” she joked.

“So that’s where your wizard ancestors came from!” Ron exclaimed. “Dad told us once that Professor Dumbledore claimed Muggleborns had to descend from Squibs; I guess he had to be right, eh?”

“Most likely,” Hermione nodded with a faint smile. “Though one has to wonder if perhaps you shouldn’t have wizard ancestors on both sides to have magic. Dad’s family, the Grangers, probably came in contact with magic when someone married a witch and had Squibs children. But my Mom’s family, they’re called Puckles -- and I found the name Puckle on awards in the Trophy Room. The last one who attended Hogwarts were apparently Zephyria Puckle and Adellina Puckle, both in the 1900s. Zephyria was a Head Girl and Adellina won a Quidditch award for Ravenclaw.”

“Can’t say I’m familiar with the name,” Ron said after a moment of reflection, “but that doesn’t mean anything. Many family names have become lost when they only had witches as descendants -- and most wizards happily ignore Squib branches. I guess your mother is part of one?”

“That’s what I think, but I don’t have enough records to prove it, and I’m loath to borrow the Stone to dig further.”

“You only have to ask, Hermione,” Harry smiled at her softly. “You know I won’t turn you down.”

“I know, Harry. I guess I’m just more comfortable with a paper trail. As it is, I was able to go back three generations just by checking out Grandpa Horatio’s archives. My mother’s father, he’s living in a retirement house,” she indicated to her friends. “He never writes and my parents didn’t much contact with him, so he won’t be worried by their absence and Death Eaters won’t find him easily. I visited him because I knew he kept a lot of papers -- and yes, I know it was risky, no need to tell me,” she snapped with a frown before any of them could open their mouth.

“Right,” Harry smirked. “Anyway, found anything good?”

“Yes and no. My Grandfather and his father before him were only sons. However, my Great-Great-Grandfather, John Puckle, had a younger brother, one Benjamin Puckle. He embarked for British India in the mid 1890s, after which he left little traces.”

“Why do I have the feeling you found him and his life story anyway?” Harry found himself asking.

“Because I did -- or at least, the most important details,” Hermione nodded. “Benjamin Puckle came back to England in the 1930s, but he didn’t contact his brother’s family immediately. To be honest, John Puckle had died in 1900 and the letters he sent back home to John’s widow and son were scarce and far in between. Benjamin Puckle apparently married while in India, though I don’t have his wife’s name, and had two daughters. His wife and their oldest child died from the spanish flu pandemic after World War One. It’s his surviving daughter, Honoria, who wrote to my Great-Grandfather to tell him of Benjamin’s passing -- she apparently didn’t known she had a cousin before then. They exchanged a couple of letters until my Great-Grandfather was killed in action during World War Two. Honoria wrote my Grandfather a condolence letter he had kept. That’s the last time both families came in contact.”

Ron stared at her in disbelief. “And you call that only the most important details?”

“Of course! I don’t know what kind of job he did, when he married, when exactly he came back to England, where is his tomb,...” Hermione listed off. “And I don’t have much more on his daughter Honoria. I know she married a man named Daniel Grant and died at an old age, but that’s it. She never had children.”

“Officially,” Ron commented with a knowing look.

“Ron?”

“Hermione, seriously, you created whole identities for your parents from scratch. What’s to stop you from creating new people from scratch again?”

The bushy-haired witch opened her mouth, paused, closed it and took a thoughtful look. “Well, I suppose I could,” she murmured pensively after a while. “The Second World War and the Blitz on London destroyed many records and killed many people. Assuming I give her a son who would be my father, it’d be easy to make his wife a war orphan without known family. That’d give me much leeway to work with…”

“See, I told you Harry,” Ron elbowed the other boy. “Give Hermione a nudge and she’s off.” Harry elbowed him back playfully even as Hermione gave them an unimpressed look.

“Boys,” she muttered, trying not to think about the fact that soon she wouldn’t really be able to call them like that anymore -- indeed, she’d be the boy instead and they would be… She coughed loudly. “So, anyone thought of names already? Since that was what prompted the dicussion!”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure,” Ron scratched his head. “I’m not an expert on girl names. The only ones that come spontaneously to me are my Mom’s and my sister’s and I don’t think calling myself ‘Ginny’ or ‘Molly’ is going to work.”

“You’re right, it wouldn’t,” Hermione agreed with a curt nod.

“What I’m afraid of,” Harry started slowly, “is the risk of calling you by the wrong name by accident. Sure, there are spells we could use to avoid calling each other by our true identity when we’re in public but even still, I’d feel better at ease using names that resemble our owns. Or names that could uses, I dunno, ‘Ron’ or ‘Harry’ as nicknames.”

“That’s not so easy, Harry. While I understand the feeling, don’t you think people would be curious to have Harry Potter having an older cousin he never met who’s called ‘Harriet’?” Both Harry and Ron grimaced and Hermione flashed a quick grin. “Not a popular name with either of  
you, I take?”

“No, not really,” Harry replied. “And that the only one…?”

“‘Henrietta’ is a possibility,” Hermione shrugged and Harry closed his eyes. “Though it most often shortened to ‘Hattie’, it remains close enough to Harry to fit your narrow criteria.”

“My criteria aren’t narrow!” Harry argued back. “Just… forget I asked.”

“Oh, Harry I’m just trying to make you see ‘Harry’, even as a nickname, isn’t a possibility for you. Ron, however, can be an easy to fit nickname for a girl, provided you find something where the syllable is used.”

“Like what?” Ron asked curiously, feeling vaguely worried. Hermione paused.

“Well… there is ‘Ronda’, for example.” Ron winced. “There are also old names such as ‘Ronelle’ or ‘Verona’, ‘Sophronia’ and ‘Corona’.” Ron’s wince became more pronounced. “Or there are more modern names such as ‘Sharon’ or ‘Cameron’; while Ron isn’t a common diminutive for them, it could still be used.”

“Well, that does sound better,” Ron said hesitantly. “‘Corona’ isn’t the ugliest of the lot either but I dunno, it doesn’t feel right anyway. What would you pick for yourself, Hermione?”

The witch blinked. “Me? Oh, uh, I… I like the name ‘Hugo’, personally.” She fidgeted.

“Hugo?”

“That’s a long story. My father’s name is Victor, and he always encouraged me to read and when I was younger he got me a whole bunch of books written by french writer Victor Hugo and… Nevermind; it’s an old private joke in my family. But the point is, I always liked the sound of the name and I often thought I’d name my firstborn son Hugo… if I ever had sons,” she sighed.

An uneasy silence fell between them. Bringing up the subject of children who would never exist because Hermione would never be a mother left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth. (And Harry immediately stamped down the little voice in his head which amiably pointed out that just because Hermione wouldn’t get a chance to become a mother, she’s never had a chance to be a **father** either.)

“‘Hugo Grant’ sounds nice. Plus, it shares the same initials as your real name,” Harry pointed out quietly.

“It’s just a coincidence,” Hermione shrugged, “though I admit it’s a good one.”

“You know any good girl name starting with the letter ‘H’? Asides of Hermione, that’s it,” Ron asked quickly, trying too to lift the mood.

“Oh, yes, plenty. There is ‘Heidi’, ‘Helen, ’Helena’, ‘Hestia’, ‘Honoria’, ‘Hannah’, ‘Hesper,’ ‘Helga’, ‘Harmony’, ‘Hemera’, ‘Haley’, ‘Hypatia’, ‘Holly’, ‘Heather’, ‘Hazel’, ‘Hilda’, ‘Hope’,...”

“Wait, wait, wait, back up!” Harry exclaimed.

“Oh, you heard one you liked, Harry?”

“Not… exactly. But it just tilted when you said names like ‘Holly’ and ‘Hazel’. I mean… My Aunt and my mother were named after flowers,” he said slowly. “And my Great-Aunts were all named after flowers as well: Marigold, Hortense, Petunia the first,... Even my Great-Grandmother, she was called Lillian, and unless I’m wrong, it’s also a variant of ‘Lilium’, which means…”

“‘Lily’,” Hermione completed, looking surprised and elated at the same time. “You’re right. There is a naming theme in your mother’s family, at least when it comes to girls. Flower names are actually pretty commons both in the Muggle and the wizarding world, now that I think about it…”

“Got any with the syllable ‘Ron’ insides?” Ron joked.

Hermione paused, thought for a second and nodded. “There is the veronica flower, yes, and the name ‘Veronica’ often has ‘Ronnie’ as a diminutive. It’s not too far stretched to suppose one could call a girl named ‘Veronica’ ‘Ron’ sometimes.”

“Veronica, hum? It doesn’t sound half-back,” the redhead muttered for himself. “Veronica Wilkins. Veronica Miranda Wilkins,” he repeated aloud. “What do you think?”

“That it could fit pretty well,” Hermione smiled. “And you Harry?” she asked, turning toward the other boy.

“I like ‘Holly’, personally. It’s a plant, and it reminds me of my wand. However, it does sound a little too much like ‘Harry’ and you’re the one who warned us about avoiding too close a resemblance to our true names. ‘Hazel’ feels nice as well, and I think it has symbolism among the Muggle as a protection against evil, so it’d probably fit me… But perhaps it’s safer to take ‘Heather’. I could take a different flower, I guess, but I’d like to keep something with the letter ‘H’, so… Heather Jameson, what do you say?”

“Not sure you look like a ‘Heather’, mate, but why not?” Ron shrugged.

“It’s perfect, Harry,” Hermione reassured him. “Did you think of a second name? Or even a third? To give more depth to your character. I was thinking Hugo William Grant could work for me; William is a fairly common name. I could even add ‘Daniel’ for my ‘grandfather’ and pretend ‘William’ is my other grandfather’s name,” she babbled, happy with herself.

Harry thought for a moment. He couldn’t use ‘Lily’, that was too obvious and besides, ‘Heather Lily’ sounded a little weird. ‘Heather Lillian’, after his Great-Grandmother, sounded better, but it still didn’t seem to fit in his mind. If it was going to be his new name, he wanted it to please him, damnit.

Like Ron, he had little experience with girl names asides of those of his classmates, Wizards and Muggles alike. There were several witches he respected and admired and wouldn’t have minded being ‘named’ after, but ‘Minerva’ or ‘Nymphadora’ was too unusual for a Muggleborn child, and he feared he would offend Ron if he went with the more normal ‘Molly’. His mind went back to Surrey’s primary school and the classes he had shared with Dudley. There had been many girls there. He had never spent much time with them because nobody wanted to be around weird little Harry Potter and possibly being targeted by Dudley’s gang for being too friendly with him, but he still remembered most of them: Elizabeth, Marian, Rose, Lucy, Katie, Alice,...

Patricia. The name flashed in his mind, remembering the little girl who, on his very first day of class, had wanted to befriend him because ‘he wore glasses too’. Harry had hoped to made his very first friend… and Dudley had come in and ruined that chance, scaring away Patricia -- though he had been called in the Headmaster’s office for breaking the girl’s glasses and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia -- especially Aunt Petunia -- had stressed out for their son that hitting girls was **bad**, no matter the reason. It was the only time Harry could remember the Dursleys being even vaguely reprimanding toward their son. The harm had been done though, and Patricia had ended avoiding both cousins like the plague after the incident, until her family moved away two or three years later.

He had almost forgotten her; in the grand scheme of things, she hadn’t been very important. But her name had always struck him as rather nice, of only because it belonged to a nice girl with glasses as thick as Harry’s owns.

“Heather Patricia Lillian,” he finally said. “Heather Patricia Lillian Jameson.” Silently, he savored the irony of his borrowed name subtly (boldly?) claiming who he was through phonetics alone; ‘Lily and James’ son’ indeed.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look and nodded together. “Well, that’s one problem we’re done with,” the redhead pointed out, feeling satisfied. Hermione just snorted.

“I hope you’re kidding? Padma might be happy we finally selected names for ourselves but knowing her, she’s going to bug us again. Why, knowing her, she’s going to bring out our new ‘birthdates’. We should as well select them now.”

The two boys groaned.

*-*-*-*-*

They started small.

Their first trips to the past were carefully timed, using the prototype Time-Turner. Because Hermione’s ‘future’ background was the most fictitious of them all, they started with hers. Thankfully, it wasn’t too hard to track the whereabouts of Honoria Puckle and her husband Daniel Grant once they knew where to start -- the Resurrection Stone certainly helped. Of course, they still had to take precautions and so their first trips to the past, made in the 30s, were simply made to observe the couple while under different Polyjuice disguises.

Hermione’s first cousin thrice removed (and wasn’t that a mouthful to remember?) and her husband weren’t very sociable and mostly kept to themselves, though they seemed to be on good term with most of their neighbors. They noted their habits, their schedules, the names of their closest acquaintances who would need to go through Memory Charms in order to believe the couple had had a child.

Hermione’s handled most of those, having had previous experience with her own parents. Carefully, under the tip of her wand, she started to craft the character of ‘Wendell Daniel Grant’, Honoria and Benjamin’s son.

If she had any scruple, she buried them deep as she settle for a birth year and implanted memories of a pregnancy that never was and a toddler who followed his mother everywhere in the house, didn’t like to play outside and preferred to stay in his room to read. Regularly, she came back to the past to check if the false memories still held seamlessly and implanted new ones among the neighborhood’s inhabitants.

Ron and Harry helped her all the while, sneaking into a Muggle school under Harry’s Invisibility cloak to insert false records and files or boldly going in the school itself in daylight under Polyjuice, taking the form of a small brown haired and brown eyed boy and running around or playing briefly with the other children while the other used a large scale Confusion Spell to avoid people asking questions about the additional, unknown student.

(The hair had been carefully gathered from a Muggle family they had come across in Devon where the father and four sons, all between the age of six and eighteen, shared a strong resemblance, enough that they could pass for the same person at different stage of their life. Any little variation was quickly covered by glamour.)

In the minds of his ‘parents’, ‘Wendell’ grew up as a timid but nice young man with average school results who went to London in order to find work as a clerk in a small firm which would have closed down by the end of the 1970s. After a few years, he met ‘Monica Smith’, a young lady who had started to work at the firm as a secretary. They fell in love and married around 1960 before having their first and only child, Hugo William Daniel Grant, on October 22th, 1964.

Hermione had insisted on the date; while she couldn’t keep her real birthday, she still wanted her new ‘birthdate’ to hold some significance to her.

“And what does October 22th is significant for?”

“Oh, honestly, Ron! It’s the day I founded the S.P.E.W back in 1994!”

“And that’s the best date you thought about?!”

“Well… I had thought about October 31st, in memory of our first Halloween at Hogwarts, but I feared it’d be too obvious… and it would have been cruel for Harry.”

“Oh… That’s… kind of you, Hermione?”

“I notice you didn’t put nearly as much details in ‘Monica’s’ background than you did in ‘Wendell’.”

“I didn’t have to make a too detailed one for her by using Word War Two as an excuse for her spotty background. There were plenty of orphans left in the wake of the Blitz and the fighting and Smith is a relatively common name among Muggles. If I make ‘Monica’ around 3 when the Blitz started and she lost her parents, she’d be still young enough to only have a flimsy comprehension of the world and have forgotten most details about her life before being brought to the orphanage. Especially if she was injured or badly scared by the explosions. It’s a perfect cover.”

“If you say so…”

Of course, they still had to fill in additional details; the Orphanage where she grew up, the typing course she attended, a list of the place she worked before marrying Wendell Grant, the couple’s first flat in London before they left for the country,... A few pictures of a Polyjuiced Hermione were inserted in the Orphanage’s records, just in case, and at the witch’s insistence, Harry, Ron and her took pictures of themselves under the ‘Wendell’, ‘Monica’ and ‘Random Friend(s)’ disguises with small doses of Aging potions to further the illusion the Grants were real people.

“You see, Heather Jameson and Veronica Wilkins can afford to have little to no pictures of their family, since they come from rocky families and had difficult relationships with their relatives, but Hugo Grant is supposed to have a stable family life until his Hogwarts letter comes,” Hermione reasoned. “Even if he had a falling out with them and they moved to Australia--” because the cover was too tempting to use, and it wasn’t even a lie, since ‘Hugo’ would have seen ‘Wendell’ and ‘Monica’ leave for Australia “--it would stand to reason their son would keep a few pictures of them.”

“But shouldn’t there be pictures of them with, well, ‘Hugo’ as well?”

“Yes, there should. But those ones can be taken once I, well, take the Potion. A few drops of Youth Potion, and we can easily put ‘Hugo’ in a picture with his ‘parents.” The hesitation was clear, but no one commented on it. They all shared it, at various degrees.

But there was also a strange kind of anticipation as well buried under the wariness, not that they were ready to admit it to each other. To live the rest of their lives under the opposite gender was terrifying and fascinating at the same time. It could give them…

_Respect._

_Anonymity._

_Standing Out._

“I, uh, I guess we will have to do the same thing too. The pictures, I mean.”

“Ah… yus, yus, of course. Speaking off, did you finally manage to get hair from Eudora Wilkins?”

Taking hair from unsuspecting Muggles was one thing; taking hair from two witches who lived isolated and under various protective spells on their house and garden was another. While they weren’t especially powerful, for neither Eudora nor Eliana had finished their Hogwarts education and from the looks of it they hadn’t been stellar students while they attended, Harry, Ron and Hermione couldn’t just barge in. Dealing with a call for help to the Ministry was the last thing they needed, and since they didn’t all have wands, they couldn’t afford a duel with the two women as well --provided they went to them at a time Eliana was still alive.

Dismantling the protections was a long and arduous process, too time consuming and which might alert the house’s inhabitants. The only solution, as they had discovered, was to only take apart one layer of spells in order to slip undetected in the house while Eudora Wilkins slept and pluck a few hair out of her head.

Which was easier said than done, because the old witch was pretty much an insomniac, to their dismay. Which had led Hermione to start crafting a Sleep Potion on top of all the brews she already had to prepare, not trusting Ron or Harry to make it on their own and preferring to send them to work on the case of Harry’s ‘family’ in the meanwhile.

The case of Marigold and Thomas Jameson was thankfully far easier to manage than Eudora Wilkins -- though it was also very painful in its own rights for Harry.

He had spoken with the shade brought forward by the Stone, but he hadn’t been prepared for the real thing.

Even from afar, Marigold Evans looked a lot like her younger niece; she had the same red hair, the same jaw, the same nose and the same bright, green eyes that seemed to captivate so many people. At the same time, they were also very different; Harry’s mother hadn’t been as tall as her Aunt, and he doubted his mother would have let her husband treat her so badly. From all accounts, Lily Evans would have cursed anyone trying to raise a hand at her. Marigold Evans had been in her early thirties when she had died, but even in her late twenties, she already had small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes and grey hair.

Whenever her husband was angry, Marigold Evans just rolled with the punches, flatly or pitifully excused herself toward her husband, hide her bruises under long skirts and long-sleeves blouses and went back to cook dinner or clean the house. She smiled sweetly at her neighbors, pretending all was alright, and when people looked like they pitied her, she would stand tall and proud and sneer in a way that strongly reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia. Marigold Evans didn’t care for pity; she was proud, perhaps too much so. It certainly explained why she had never tried to go back to her family, even after her marriage had started to turn sour. 

And still, Harry couldn’t help but find her beautiful and kind, and it took all his willpower and, once or twice, Ron or Hermione’s quick Stupefy to stop himself to just attack her husband.

Thomas Jameson -- ‘Tom’ to his friends, and it left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth to say it, but at the same time he thanked fate that he wouldn’t have to fake the disgust and loathing his in voice if someone ever asked him about Tom Jameson -- was almost fifteen years older than his wife and he reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon, but an Uncle Vernon who would only had bad sides.

Not that Vernon Dursley had had many redeeming qualities in Harry’s eyes, but compared to Tom Jameson, he was almost tempted to call his late Uncle a ‘good man’. Vernon Dursley had loved drinking a brandy after dinner and had regularly opened bottles at dinner or lunch, but he hadn’t been a drunkard (that was Marge). He never insulted his wife for having failed to prepare dinner on time, and had never hit Petunia or Dudley (well, asides of the day they had all madly dashed out of Privet Drive when the Hogwarts letters had come for Harry) for such a petty motive as well.

Physically, he had black hair (a good thing if Harry’s own remained dark), watery blue eyes hidden behind thick glasses (another ‘good’ thing as far as Harry’s future identity was concerned), a large nose that had probably been broken several times (which wouldn’t have surprised Harry, for he had witness the man getting caught in a bar fight while tailing him to take his hair) and a square jaw that gave him a hard look. He might have been good-looking once but nowadays it was hard to see the appeal.

At least modifying their memories and those of their neighbors hadn’t been too hard. Even if it was sad and upsetting, making everyone believe that Marigold Jameson had finally delivered a healthy baby girl instead of a stillborn was necessary, and strongly suggesting ‘Heather’ as a name for the newborn while her ‘parents’ were under a Confusion spell had been easy enough. It warmed Harry’s heart to know that at least, Marigold adored the name.

Implanting further memories had left him with a sour taste in the mouth, however, because they weren’t good memories.

Just because they ‘had a daughter’ didn’t meant Thomas Jameson had become nicer or had drunk less. It just gave him someone else to tyrannize. Marigold would remember stepping many times in front of her daughter to avoid Thomas taking a swing at the little girl when he complained she was ‘too loud’ when she played. Thomas would remember roaring about a toy abandoned at the wrong place, even if he didn’t always spank ‘Heather’. Neighbors would remember a sickly child who never got out much and who sometimes sported bruises, even more so as she grew up, and they would tut and say ‘clumsy’ when in fact they all knew Thomas grabbed her arm with too much force or gave her too hard a slap or too hard a kick. Not that they would ever speak about it; the Jamesons’ business was their own, after all (much like the Dursleys’ had been).

It felt like recreating Privet Drive, and the realization left Harry dizzy and reeling, wondering what it was about people and refusing to believe something was obviously wrong or hiding their head in the sand and pretending they couldn’t hear or see anything rather than act and do something right.

“People are people, Harry, and people are never perfect,” Hermione had sighed, though he could see in her eyes she was as upset as him. But it had been Ron’s comforting hand on his shoulder which had allowed Harry to calm down and shake himself out of a anger-tinted stupor and he had thrown himself into the task of completing ‘Heather’s paper trail and life with renewed determination.

It needed to be perfect, because 1980s Snape was bound to scrutinize with extra attention any people whose background linked them to Lily Evans Potter, and Dumbledore would be just as bad.

“Harry? Eudora’s hair?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah, we got them, don’t worry. The Sleep Potion worked just fine. And we already implanted all the memories we could, asides of a precise description of her ‘granddaughter’.”

“That can be done on our last trip. With the hair, we can take care of the pictures, insert them in her house so they can ‘naturally age’ and complete the illusion. Which reminds me, we will need to get Eliana’s wand on our last trip; you’re sure she still keeps her in the same place?”

“Yeah, ‘Mione, don’t worry, we checked. Same place in 1968 and same place in 1969, and with enough dust on the casket to know she hadn’t moved or opened it in years. But you’re sure we need…?”

“Can you imagine a young witch running away from home without taking a wand with her, any wand? Plus, we need an ‘official’ wand before we can buy new, legal ones at Ollivander’s once we’re ‘of age’ or at ours return from abroad. Harry and I can’t own one, but you can - or rather, ‘Veronica’ can.”

“That’s going to be trouble with the Minister though.”

“Perhaps, but that’s actually a good thing. That wand wouldn’t have the Trace anymore, and if Eudora Wilkins reports the wand was stolen by her underage granddaughter, it’d work as proof Veronica Wilkins does indeed exist. Of course, it may lands ‘Veronica’ in hot waters briefly with the Aurors once she resurfaces, but since she’s a witch who grew in peculiar conditions, they won’t be too hard on her -- provided it can be proved she did nothing illegal with it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because there were precedents. The Daily Prophet’s old issues are full of stories of this kind; there was one or two in the issues Professor Snape brought us. I can make you read the article, if you want. There are rarely legal actions against the underage thieves since they often come from, well, rather disturbing families. The most they risk is being barred from ever working for the Ministry and pay fines; you don’t send minors to Azkaban, especially not for theft.”

“... Let’s say you’re right, but you better give me those articles to read as well. What if Eudora doesn’t report the theft though?”

“Then it’s no problem either, because we’ll still have the wand to use and there won’t be any legal trouble for ‘Veronica’.”

“So… we’re almost done?”

“Yes, Ron, almost. I’d say… four, perhaps five days to complete all our preparations, and then… We can do our ‘Big Jump’.”

“... I can’t believe we’re actually doing to do it.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Do you… do you want to stop? We could, you know…”

“No, we can’t. We already modified too much things, implanted too many false memories, too many records. We wouldn’t be able to reverse what we have done, even if we wanted to. There are officially three people by the name Hugo Grant, Veronica Wilkins and Heather Grant somewhere in limbos, waiting to be given a face. Waiting to change the Wizarding world and help destroy You-Know-Who. We went too far already, so now the only direction we can still go is forward.”

They all looked at each other and nodded. They couldn’t hesitate anymore.

They needed a last series of pictures. They needed a last row of Memory and False Memory Charms.

Then they would take the Potion. They’d complete their false ‘past’, their ‘shared history’.

And then their true mission would be ready to start.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

**And that's where I had to end things due to falling out of love with the current story**


End file.
